Each note painted by hand,
Carefully, knowing the state of remorse.
The ivories grow and decrease in sound,
Over time, losing the ability to use force.
Emotions are only a play of effect,
Toying,


with how you act in show,
They throw you down, down into a pit of nothing,
You never know whether you have a friend or foe.
Gasping like the air was drained out,
I’m starting to think life is a game.
A game where each chord cracks, causing you to go out of tune.
A game that has no happiness, only shame.
With the wretched bing of a key gone wrong,
Is each time one’s heart is ripped free from it’s place.
With the time going by and no hands to grab,
They won’t even remember my face.