Undo

That's it; she sings in this tone that gives one the nostalgic creeps. When you listen to the words you can't run anymore. It’s a magician’s muse. Music meant to ache within you, especially on lonely Friday nites. Its music you turn off and it screeches within the membranes of your brain- a sinus forming below the right ear exuding your soul. You may have jumped in, hoping to say hey, nod aimlessly, shift on your feet and run out, but this is different. Its contagious, its neodeath and nerdish. There is no antidote for this kind of music-you suffer it the rest of your life, people will never understand the music pronking in your mind. It’s your disease; -

 

Look how hard you listened
To get in here
This is where the mist lightens
So you can peer into the vista of delusion
Where song synchs your heartbeat
This is space for regimented emotion
I talked you into,
Liberty was our king then, so was Empire
Angels of lisps
Shouldering hope
Look over your shoulder
I know you like it here
You like the wiggle chock affair
Of never understanding this music
Neither bothering to
Tunes of demure
Straying to the end

                               -Wf-