You play me as brilliantly as your violin,
So why don't I hear the melody,
That once winged its way in pulsed vibrations?
Light as the stroke of the artist's brush,
Your finger tips press, tilt and draw the bow,
To curve sound in space.
So why do harmonies now grate?
And the once refined curves, now jar out only discord?
Play purely, harmonies and melodies, with,
sharp and jagged edges?
Tushie 1992
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