What Song Do I Sing to Thee?

What song do I sing to thee?

Thee who is so holy, thee who is so free.

What chords do I swimmingly combine?

So that you call yourself yours, and I myself mine.

What phrases? What letters? What caters to your needs?

What poems? What notes? How many beats?

What time? What count?

What voice? What amount?

What phrase? What word?

Do you want it loudly hidden, or perhaps secretly heard?

The music should write itself from heart,

Yet a page is thrown again and again, once again torn apart.

I hit a drum, and you play your bass.

I wish it were simpler, but it's never the case.

Hum and hum a tune, I have nothing left.

Except some bare pages, maybe some memories I kept.

All that I place into measures, whatever comes will be.

And yet you wait watching, maybe hoping you'd see

A shinging light, a beaming audience, claps, cheers and champagne.

You may fight it differently, but all pain is the same.

I'll linger somewhere, writing some more songs if I can.

It wouldn't ever matter anymore.

I played my part, but I was never a fan.