Brahmsbow

The tune of the adventurer,Steady thrumming, steps so sure. Gay crimson and sky, Grounds of velvet, cement a shining pearl. Echoes clear a ringing, Harmonies full, A familiarity, intimate. Like a graze of a pedal, a key, Comes a melody!

Rise, Crumble, Die away, now The anthem of a weeping willow Seeps grays, somber. Coated with the mourns of a funeral, awake. All the while, Clouds bleed a perfect ivory.

Staggering, from Singsong of a cuckoo, To ashen woe, cries misfortune. Chatter and trickle of sopranos, Heavy groans of altos, of bass. Scarlet imprints, gashes deep Cut and Quiver, Locks of hair, shorn from the temples of a stallion, Coarse, powdered with rosen, Meet steel.

Ecstasy, exasperation. He says, with an air of mystery, simplicity, Cease your mindlessness for a beat, listen The stones are ringing, bricks humming, Listen boy! The orbs in the wood Tell a story, tales of a town, bubbling to the surface, Tunes of Brahmsbow.

Listen here. Pianissimo.

The power is held in the wand of the conductor.