A Mantra for Music
As though it were preordained
As though it was an extension of the arm
Noises have a distinct power
Music has an innate charm
A medicine for heartbreak
A drug for the children
And the true opiate of the peoples
Every tormenting void, filled in
The pious fraternize in opposition to the world's narcotic magic
While the incredulous laugh in unison at those who beseech their Idol's presence
Though hearts of all colors and creeds join in against individual lusts and deeds
To appease their mind's needs, whether benevolent or with malevolence
Not truly an up
Nor a down
One's rehabilitation for the noise is non-existent
One's withdrawal consists of nothing more than ringing sound
Before the visual representatives
Before the bias association
The vibration held true and stood the test of time
Outlasting generation after generation
The buried upon the buried
Cremated and expiry
All found wanting
All found destroyed in a whim of betrayal
For every knife among the unseen and illusioned
A reverberating string to ease the muscle
A humming vocal chord to silence that child
And for every love of physical closure, an infinite tussle among the men
Everything to it, unwieldy.
Everyone with it, protective
The only defenseless innocent
With no one thing on the offensive
A mantra! A mantra!
A hymn and a moan
These sounds are your drug and your cure
Your love and your home
Keep them close or leave them alone
They won't abandon and they won't forsake
A mantra.
A hymn.
A distinctive moan
Seven Billion people and yet without
Still quite alone
