My fingers touch the soft ivory, caress its glory, it beauty is beyond imagination.

I step in the light young, handsome, full of pride and ready to love.

It draws me closer, closer to its heart to the soul of the heavy vessel, the vessel which can enchant and bewitch.

It feels so good, but so bad, it hurts so badly yet I sit, sit on the throne before the taught strings and watch the hammers fall, it brings a sweet spider's web of moans and notes so high you can only feel them.

It pierces the hard air, this spider web of beautiful deceit, trapping me in its acidy tether.

I fall to the sound of the ivory once more beginning into the 3rd passionate verse; it depicts a picture of love fuelled by loss and pain hidden by a happiness.

These wretched ivories have cursed everyone who plays them, you only wish to play more, to hold each note and once more be wrapped in that bewitching web, where you are eaten from the inside out.

He falls the figure of bone and skin, hands clutching at grand piano, his suit 6 sizes too big for his sunken face, he only wishes to carry one playing, he is so happy when he plays.

I feel lighter, softer, weightless even.

The sun rises once more and another steps into the light.