Busses growl like mumbled curses

Stand and sing to backs of heads

Mixing tracks with café foley

Pour songs in coffee cups and breads

Warm melodies brush gently across soft ears,

Then dance across shy breasts.

Do you call out your own stories

Or cover those you read?

Do you reach to share the moment

Or rest with songs long dead?

How could a song be dead?

Bend a string and launch a sharp note

Among pumping pairs of jaws

Harmonize ceramic clinking

Pregnant tears and forced guffaws

Accept the room and corners dark,

Shine your songs within.

Break

Do you call out your own stories

Or cover those you read?

Do you reach to share the moment

Or rest with songs long dead?

How could a song be dead?

Click your heel against the rhythm

Trace the melody you hummed

Brave the best that you imagined

Naked as the strings you strummed

Did the grain of your guitar ever dream of who you are?

Ever dream of who you are?

Call into this lovely room.

Call into this lovely room.

Call into this lovely room.