The music man sits looking at his screen
Finger tapping, cutting, snapping
His tweaks, cuts and splits
Cut your breath from your voice
Until the song is created anew
A fresh take of a rough diamond.

Sound waves, so many to catch
Travelling from you to me and back
Pick and strum, a long low hum
The weary voice of a guitar and his singer
In the vaults of a musician’s head they linger
The long low hum, pick and strum

The folk songs carry on the wind
From strings to leads to ears
Pulled into the ether and dragged out again
Vocalizing inner pain, torment and care
Or the the love, joy and fear
Everyone hides away to hear

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