SoulWingSound

When I play, the sound gets through like an angry scream of hate,
the strings they move with life bestowed amidst my broken state,
the mind does not think me through but the music in my heart,
can move me to do the things I can or couldn't have enough of.

And the birds they fly towards my soul, their feathers falling quick,
soon they'll die and get within the realm of the sick,
where broken wings and piled up skies of unrequited love,
can hide the sun and choke the music raining down from above.

And if I keep on playing, perhaps the song will finally end,
it'll kill the dancing beast and twist my tune, and it'll rend
my tears dry, a sudden cry to make and look around
for the missing note carried by the bird who stole the soul before the sound.