In a room filed with only wood and ivory
A place I visit nightly
The rooms is filed with still and silent air
Until I sit and play my tunes of despair
A darkness I shun away with candles of melting wax
My own little world made to perfect syntax
My inner demons come out to dance and be promiscuous
There conscious non existent and act less
My face with no expression of the things I play
And my lips not moving for I have not one word to say
My hands stretching for impossible keys
And my eyes closed for no sight is needed for me to see
Devils of new try to touch me as I play
But my flickering flame keeps there darkness at bay
Candles running out of wick and wax to keep my dark room lit
I will remain on this black wooden bench to which I sit
Hands that reach will finally touch
And all that keeps me real will be not much
My wood and ivory world now my only place for peace
Is the place where my mind can finally cease

 
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