Guitar

In front of me the crowd stands looking,
Outside the box I take the sparkling, six-stringed instrument,
Across my lap I lay it,
Against the strings I strike my pick,
From the guitar magic happen that nobody can explain,
Between the strings the sounds ring out,
Inside my heart the lyrics from,
During my performance the crowd looks at me in awe,
Until the end I push myself to do my best,
At the crowd I look up, and I take a deep breath as the last sounds fade out





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