to die for my music
lost lonely bitter depressed
expect death at best
but my ears don't rest
one strum one chord the beat
of my heart in my chest
left to recollect my lifes chaotic mess
but the notes take my breath
relieve this crushing stress
so on i play on i press
left in the streets cold poor and listless
penniless without much left
but on i play on i press
depressed at the mess the stress
has made my chest
no time to work no weekly check
but still i stay
these strings i caress
and on i play and on i press
whne the time comes i welcome death
in his cloaked form and his stenching breath
and even in death i find no rest
so on i play
AND ON I PRESS