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the Musician
he was the Musician
his life summed in Song
the Rhythm always came
with the Notes right along
the sweet perfume of Adagio
his chorus Heaven’s cry
his life as ordered as his work
not a Pitch awry
like the Minor Scale
he always worked as hard
the Notes forever perfect
but the happiness was charred
there was a midnight burning
and he became the slave
the Flats started to end
as the Sharps began to wave
the Semitone was perfect
the Ledger Lines were high
the Grand Staff starts
as the Triad replies
tick, tick, tick*
the Metronome counts his Time
the Phrase pauses
as he hits the Climb
the Crescendo cracks
the Melody dies
the Treble shivers
then the Notes lie
the crashing Climax
that broken Cord
the harmony lost
to a distant Lord
there is no Maestoso
he succumbs to the Blues
to do it again
he would never refuse
the Beauty, the Brutality
the irony of it all
as the Scale climbs
but the Interval falls
then the Relative Key rests
there’s a stop from the Beat
the Key Signature changes
as the Lord takes his seat-
And yet, the Music is never complete.
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