My Own Concerto

Life is a symphony, we are all instruments, And time is the conductor of the orchestra. We live inside our own concerto With its strums, and its beats, and its drums, Its crescendo You can feel the vibrations in the earth under your feet And it feels like the street is going To collapse and sometimes you just want to say, “STOP!” But the rhythm and the rhyme don’t think And don’t listen. They watch the conductor. And time doesn’t stop for anyone. So they keep going on Playing In sync in your mind. But this is your solo and you’re falling behind And you can’t seem to catch up to tempo. And you want to shout, to explode – But instead you give in, you erode And the pieces of your washed away flesh melt into chords that weave their way and find some kind Of recognition with this music called the present. As you're carried away, Yesterday is just a memory You hold on to for Support. It's your only chance and your last resort. And these sounds Can get you down, But keep your head high And your ears perked Because there’s always something new, something fresh, Something twerked Just a bit from moment to moment, From day to day, From sonata to sonata, So it’s never quite the same. There’s melody and harmony and dissonance and cacophony, But cling to this sweet, sweet music As long as you can Because the worst sound is (silence)