I flick my finger along the screen
pushing the arrow that unlocks
the door to my obsession.
And I must confess
I am a mess
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I can never focus on the fact
I'm attached
To a little black box
that's nothing but words and sounds
When I could climb mountains
I stay inside and abide by the rules
of safe and sound.
But it's not as bad as some
make it out to be.
Out of all the people in the world
some need to be quiet and silent.
As others blast guns, we blast stereo
reruns of songs the world shuns
into misunderstood.
And we pull them out into
'What we could.'
We change people with our hearts not
our fancy cars.
We put beautiful and ugly in the same
category,
For there is no story limit to the way we
pin it on our hearts of memories and
experiences that can toughen our outer
fences.
Making us twice the man of the van he drives.
Or the handbag she buys.
As we step aside and wait for the battle to
begin,
We mend the injuries of ones brave enough
to take charge and barge their way to the top.
But with out us they'd die on the battle grounds
we found too terrifying to step upon.
To put our blood sweat and tears into
something we fear,
Is playing a harp with a saw and cutting down
trees with our nimble fingers.
As the sweet smell of freedom lingers
to that little black box sitting in the
corner playing, endless harmony.