Melodic stanzas. are symphonizing their way. through your weary head. To feed your distrust. And fill it's mouth with the desire. to soulfully be one with your creation. Not a subject to control. you call upon a higer power. for help and inspiration. The crowd waits. and turns their faces. towards you expectantly. you give them what they need. But their useless criticism. makes you die. a bit more inside. Not a subject to control. you call upon a higer power. for help and inspiration. Oh I swoon. while loudspeakers play soft music. Leaning. over your fourtieth masterpiece. You must have loved. the colour of these violins. I wish I knew you. Your fit of insanity makes me sad. I wish you knew. your music was to stay forever. And I hope..... I have no clue. if you know how much it matters.