I remember falling in love with songs
For the first time, sober, drunk, and / or high,
If I get the lyrics from the start,
But more often than not I have them wrong.
I love what I see there of myself
A reflective canvas, a notebook mirror,
With me creating another me
In hopes that another sees my world as well.
But I get the words that mean so much
Completely and utterly wrong so often,
So that all it is to me is music
And cryptic mumbles and gibberish in a brief poetic snatch.
Eventually I'll stumble upon the truth
The words that were meant to be heard
With the music as it was meant to be played
But occasionally I'll secretly wish to never learn what is truly being said.
