It came in blue, soprano it sang.
The strings strong and new I whispered a song.
In perfect harmony we sat by the
edge of the bed
I taught it to speak without words.
It sang in a high pitched voice
and the plucking came easy to the long painted nails that moved ever so quickly without doubt.
And it sang and it sang until my finger tips wept and the singing turned into wails.
The hardened fingers ached with regret,but still oh boy what a sound.
A sound that gets me through the hardest of days
just another escape route i've found.
