Curls of gold and silver shimmer with the violins as they play a maudlin melody, bemoaning a falling of fellows past and future. No urgency comes with their deliverance, for the piano softy soothes her falling torrent of salty sea. There are broken threads throughout the symphony tied up only by the hatred and lust for the end of it all.

Discretion denies what some may a call a remonstration of past follies. Memory has served its use through and throughout all of what we desire, but that which yearns for us peers around the corners of vexing temptation. A swift glance from the bursting dam means only that sparks won't spark.

Striking melodies clash with their counterparts as crescendos build deep within the chasms of the heart and cease, searching for the light in the darkness of it all. Granted the most within the time of flight cannot elicit the birdsong from the lips of man given that she is everywhere.

Tonic for the mind relays itself with vibrations throughout the body, ceasing when the hands are done striking the notes of the correct chords. Hatred of the fingers is not a common ailment but stares through the silence of unknown qualifications, destroying what should be and creating what is.