(written following the tragic events in London yesterday, a diary entry, not a poem or lyric)
Wearing headphones on a windy, rainy afternoon,
Safe, warm, tickling a keyboard and lost in composition,
Just trying to conjure up a new ‘song of love’ to sing,
While outside, and far away from here, in The Smoke,
Another lost conjurer, this one composing a ‘song of hate’,
A steering wheel for a magic ring, a knife as a magic wand,
He got to sing out loud his melody of hate, cast his evil spell,
Leaving the good and innocent dead, dying or maimed for life,
I wish I’d kept my headphones on, no more songs of love today.
Also, I think I’ve posted this short piece of music before. It’s called ‘A Life’. Somehow, after yesterday, it seems to have found a purpose.
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