i find myself on manuscript paper
dots on a page which make no sense
in some pattern
they sound beautiful
life has yet to define itself
the key
the notes
the meter
no rewind or coda trips
no optional endings
at times the melody's calm and soothing
then dissonances arouse the brain
as life goes on, it changes styles
changes moods
changes ways
The composer of LiFe forgot about Grand Pauses
and "railroad tracks"
The melody's not always ours
but we are still there
still recognizable
still clear
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