Harmonious Mystique

There is a sort of majesty in life that I am not yet old enough to comprehend.
Or am I not young enough?

Such as chasing geese till they lift their wings brings not the joy I once had.
There remains still the surface beauty of the setting sun and the clouds enveloped in red and orange, no? 'tis of my own imagination, that I hope.


Well, there is this thing called a piano.
Magic of piano at night and sweet sorrow shrill sallow notes
Brings tears that sting at the corner of your eyes,
it's bittersweet all right
We could stay engulfed on this couch or feeling notes seep in this night
Hurting a little, response to the damp lamplight
Plays to your fancy, whispers and sighs


Harmonies to cover up those pretty white lies.