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 shielded from the comfort
Of a soft, warm lullaby
Made from the heart on a cold, lonely diamond guitar