The pianist pounds the keys,
And plays the notes he sees;
The sheet music does dictate
The song’s sound, tone, and rate;
The drum regularly beats,
As the public sits in their seats.
A man gently taps his feet
On the unyielding concrete;
His neighbor asks him to cease,
So he can listen in peace;
The audiophile cannot stand
To hear any sounds unplanned.
The public gets what they paid for:
A classically performed score;
Is this what music was meant to be?
Something regular and orderly?
Even jazz becomes stale and old
When it is recorded and sold.
Our music is an empty echo
Of how ancient music did flow
From the hearts of men in praise
Of their good Creator’s ways;
Music was not a lifeless coal;
It was the blood of our soul.
Real music is always a blessing,
A melody that brings refreshing,
A harmony that truly heals,
A joyful sound that everyone feels,
A concert that is never boring,
A symphony that keeps on soaring.
When creation begins to unite,
And gives up the desire to fight,
Harmony will be the new norm,
And this world will truly transform,
And music won’t be a private thing,
For the whole world will begin to sing.
Every part of creation will send
Its own melody to the world’s end,
And each part of the universe
Will not attempt to rehearse;
For life is not about performing
But about constantly transforming.
When our wills are joined in unity,
We will experience a harmony
That cannot be written discretely,
For all the notes will join sweetly,
And no one will resist the urge
To join the song that does emerge.