Rust In Piece
The Curse Of The Silent
The air is dead
No tunes
No melody
The strings lay idle
And the bard lazes
Reeds are grown
Yet never blown
Will silence cry
Of a song unsung
Eyes are vacant
Unseeing
When the verses are gone
Words weathered off the stone
And fingerboards no longer strum
As the streams stop flowing
Faces in the crowd stop glowing
Hence the world is deafened
Once soulful keys l-l-l-l-l Weary and rust
The mind reduced to crawling
It no longer soars the skies
The faraway skies of imagination
Between deafness and sound devoid
Our ears are unsure which
Melancholy
Malady
The air is dead
No tunes
No melody
The strings lay idle
And the bard lazes
Reeds are grown
Yet never blown
Will silence cry
Of a song unsung
Eyes are vacant
Unseeing
When the verses are gone
Words weathered off the stone
And fingerboards no longer strum
As the streams stop flowing
Faces in the crowd stop glowing
Hence the world is deafened
Once soulful keys l-l-l-l-l Weary and rust
The mind reduced to crawling
It no longer soars the skies
The faraway skies of imagination
Between deafness and sound devoid
Our ears are unsure which
Melancholy
Malady
