Music

They sing because they can. They sing because they love to. The words mean everything. And nothing. The words are simple, slow, naive. They are difficult, complex, human. Everything surrounds us, pounding against our ear drums. Creating a new image, playing with the words already in our minds. They confuse us, making us contemplate the lives we lead. Making us question the words we have spoken, the lyrics we have written. They follow us, covering us, lulling us into a world we were never meant to see. Pulling at us, dragging us below the surface, showing us a place we never could have found on our own. It is simply intrusion. We should not be here. This was never meant for us. This place. So peaceful, serene, the only words spoken are those of music. Music that would never harm, music that dances free and unencumbered. Unlike us. We walk this world, our shoulders bowed under the burdens we all carry. We are constantly faced with the choice between right and wrong, and very often that choice is blurred. We walk through the maze of life, taking wrong turns and finding dead ends, but eventually we get to the center. We come home because we follow the lyrics of our lives. We learn to read the music and understand the rhythm and rhyme needed to finish the song. We learn what instruments will sound best, and what notes will complete the composition. We are the composers of our own lives, of our own music. We are the ones who will create our own endless classics. First we must be willing to hear it.