The
music
of
a
life
The
reality
you
know
is
false
We
are
not
empty
space
We
are
strings
On
a
harp
that
that
transcends
time
and
space
We
each
reverberate
at
a
different
note
From
the
highest
highs
to
the
lowest
baritones
we
sound
Our
masters
will
pluck
us
to
form
this
song
we
call
existence
It
can
be
beautiful
It
can
be
tragic
It
can
invoke
memory
It
can
easy
heartache
Our
master
can
bring
us
together
with
our
unique
frequencies
to
topple
walls
Our
reverberations
can
be
furry
Our
reverberations
can
be
vengeful
Our
reverberations
can
reach
beyond
our
moment
into
the
moments
to
come
My
string
is
my
own
I
know
my
note
It
is
a
bass
note
It
is
a
deep,
longing
note
This
note
on
its
own
does
little
This
string
that
produces
it
is
not
the
prettiest
string
It
is
frayed
and
worn
The
master
has
used
this
string
often
He
has
tried
to
craft
a
masterpiece
with
The
work
is
unfinished
The
master
knows
there
is
a
compliment
for
the
longing
tone
He
simply
must
find
it
He
has
so
many
strings
Delicate
strings
that
sing
of
spring
and
rain
Darker
strings
that
sing
of
mystery
and
danger
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