88 Ivories

Ivories, whites

Obsidians, nights

No picture painted

Has colors unseen by the eye

Except for mine.

As Black clashes with white, 

the sound can truly bite

With chords with sharp teeth

and a tempo you cannot beat

Yet Obsidian dances

along with Whites 

When my days are bright,

just like the lights

Bright days, Ivories grab the hands of night

a combination like a galaxy

or the constellations you see

Oh, so bright

But these blacks and whites

only reside

In the corner of a bedroom

With barely an eye

And 88 turns

On 88 springs

88 worlds are possible to bring

I not only make the black

the white 

and the grey

I paint with my fingers

Pressing down in some way

A fiery, red

Or a prismatic blue

Turn these blacks and whites

Into a brand new hue

Because my fingers hold the wavelengths

And my heart knows it true,

That these 88 ivories

Give me something new.