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Promethean Misery
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The Music Box
Never seduced by reverie
Never imbued by a plague of thoughts
Memories relegated; stored in a box
Consumed is he in escaping life
His saviour clothed in wood, embellished with ivory
His Utopia cradled by sound
Flawed by a yearning perfection
Consumed by tone, regressed from life
The more a Maestro the less a man
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A hollowed soul
Open the box to unite with the self
Bond once again to misery, pain, laughter and love
Unscramble the scenes of life
Piece together the past
Here is your greatest ensemble
(end)
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