It’s the rush of dead emotions
that make all the shower stained lyrics
seem mute and rock and roll
a lullaby for mid-life crises.

A violin can mourn the dead
as well as any grieving widow,
while moonlight seduces a piano,
only to learn it was the other way around.

The old masters never having dreamed
of this digital age, where music
becomes a tame ghost inside a machine
for an audience measured in dollars.

But the humanity there is worth more
than a billionaire soaring to Mars
or joy reduced to a modern day ode
shaped like another big screen TV.