The rush hour,
any city.
Push a piano down the stairs,
in a spiritual synergy of noise meets music.
Is it just a heart-beat out of time,
or the chaos in my head, like... fireworks in june?
To some; a dripping tap,
a form of torture!
The saxophones bark 's just a dog on a lead,
abandoned by its owner,
In a scripted random bedlam.
If you dont get it you dont get it,
this dyslexic un-music,
an off-beat heart-beat,
an immotional contradiction,
like a child with a gun,
beyond control,
beyond your "nails down a black-board",
a random fabrication,
of passion,
soul,
feeling,
from a warped creative genius.
