Rid of fresh sound, no birth of new noise, no more feet tapping dances or heart-skipping joys
Now lost in the silence are notes on a page, black dots, recognition of once better days.
…but still, as minds wander, they find sweet old hopes, all packaged in echoes and stained paper notes
Of favourite tunes that radios played while waiting in stations whose train was delayed
Bitter faces turned light as the sound gripped their heart and adjusted the beat so the pulse could take part
In a symphony’s life, as the feet start to jump, the notes fly like blood cells, the heart starts to pump…
The rhythm plays on, though the music is dead, the echo can’t die while songs live in your head
The empty halls beckon, so fill them with sound, and bring back the music that made life’s heart pound
The strings might be cut and the keys have been stolen; the silence is death, but this spell can be broken
With echoes of past lives, reverberate strong; bring back the music, where my soul belongs.