Music
My fingers fly across the keys,
The bow is drawn against the strings,
The trumpet blares, the cymbals clash,
She opens her mouth and starts to sing.
Music begins.
Music is not a singular thing.
It is a place of release.
Music transports us to a place of wonder,
A place where dreams are born.
We escape with Music.
Music is not just a place.
It is energy.
We draw on it to let us imagine.
Music ripples around us.
Music creates the wings on which we fly away
From the worries of the world.
Music becomes emotion.
We are humans because we feel.
We feel music.
Music is not a sound,
It is a feeling.
The bow is drawn against the strings,
The trumpet blares, the cymbals clash,
She opens her mouth and starts to sing.
Music begins.
Music is not a singular thing.
It is a place of release.
Music transports us to a place of wonder,
A place where dreams are born.
We escape with Music.
Music is not just a place.
It is energy.
We draw on it to let us imagine.
Music ripples around us.
Music creates the wings on which we fly away
From the worries of the world.
Music becomes emotion.
We are humans because we feel.
We feel music.
Music is not a sound,
It is a feeling.
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