More than a man of composition, my own personal messiah
Opened his soul to the angels of symphony
Zeitgeist, an enlightened spirit to guide us, through such poisoned times
Art, she cannot comprehend such a level of beauty; art is for the mortal man.
Reality becomes as distant as a childhood memory, when he strikes the checkerboard keys.
Tonight is the night I surrender my soul, to the god of roses.
David Westlake
No comments:
Post a Comment