I Guess We’ll Be Traveling In Uncharted

The Violins Waltzed. The Cellos And Basses Provided Accompaniment. The Violas Mourned Their Fate, While The Concertmaster Showed Off. The Flutes Did Bird Imitations…repeatedly, And The Reed Instruments Had The Good Taste To Admire My Jacket. The Trumpets Held A Parade In Honor Of Our Great Nation, While The French Horns Waxed Nostalgic About Something Or Other. The Trombones Had Too Much To Drink. The Percussion Beat The Band, And The Tuba Stayed Home Playing Cards With His Landlady, The Harp, Taking Sips Of Warm Milk A Blue Little Cup. “but The Composer Is Still Dead.

But It's Far Too Late For Us; Ring, Hair, Letters, Photographs - All Traces Of Our Love Will Be Scattered Then, Like An Anagram.

They Say In Every Library There Is A Single Book That Can Answer The Question That Burns Like A Fire In The Mind.

A Bolt From The Blue.

It Is Likely I Will Die Next To A Pile Of Things I Was Meaning To Read.