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Rated: E · Poetry · Entertainment · #1119133
How my fingers feel about the music I play
FINGERS ON THE KEYS
June 9, 2006


They tried to tell me they're
confused.
They tried to say they felt
abused.
They never wanted to be
used.
Their desire was to be
reclused.

They would never listen to my
excuses
if I didn't yield to their firm
refuses.
They were tired of my selfish
ruses
as I denied their heart-felt
truces.

Every measure was a
noose.
Why couldn't I simply just
deduce
that every note I would let
loose
was interpreted by them
misuse?
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