Here Come The Drums

You fantasized me in your arms when really, our songs weren’t playing to the same beats.

I knew my melodies by heart, you were still trying to find what key you were in.

Muscle memory makes for the best musicians,

too bad you couldn’t match me.

You have your drums, I have my violin.

Your rage can be shown through how you articulate every beat,

and I hope that you can beat out the ache she caused your heart that my violin couldn’t.

Play your songs in half meter,

it’ll take half the time you were with her to get over her.

The brokenness of a heart makes up the best kind of art.

And how beautiful it is to feel love that its counterpart makes us know without it, nothing makes sense.

Play those drums and show the world how you came to be.