The Silent Spaces In Between Each Sound

1. Dress me in the clothes of people I have been;
2. I wear them ill-suited to the weight of memory.
3. There is respect here for the dead,
4. And none left here for me,
5. Somewhere in the night I slip away to ephemery.

• Hand me the fingers of a body lived without me;

• I look at you, bewildered, for the ways that you might doubt me;

• White keys to my heart, black keys to my soul, the piano never played;

• a melody rings out quietly then fades dismally away.

"I don't know this. You know I don't know this."

1. And you said to me: "Music is the silent spaces in between each sound,
2. the incidental harmonies a product of the round
3. That we create by repetition, response and by the call,
4. by weaving in a rhythm and absences that fall
5. Deep in behind a heartbeat that tells you half a lie,
6. shallowly a symbol yet the symbolized screams high
7. Notes that pierce, spikes spearing disharmonic through our mind,
8. glissando, portamento, arppegio then refined,
9. Motif reborn then swept away, then brought back in before
10. The red and green and purple hashes dominate the core,

That's music", you say to me, and while I'm sympathetic,

Sometimes that I wish I was just a bit more synaesthetic.