I tip my hat to the music around me

It glitters in gold and dreams in colors we cannot see

When darkness engulfs my ever-precious soul,

Relief is only sought

As your diamond guitar strums me a symphony

And as I lie awake,

Fondness eludes my grieving soul,

And it hurts.

Because the masters were all gone by 1991.

They left us with nobody,

And the diamonds lost their shimmer.

All that's left

Is the Monday of sour chords,

None to gingerly caress an aching mind,

Or play the soundtrack to

A small child's anecdote.

Now a tale has been lost

Because the notes never reached the

Pure and brilliant minds.

Some are to be forever mute,

Forever blind,

Forever shielded from the comfort

Of a soft, warm lullaby

Made from the heart on a cold, lonely diamond guitar