The glockenspiel plays,
ringing so freely. It
jingles. It
twinkles. It’s
beauty never ceases.
While the unknown lurks
outside the door,
the glockenspiel plays
and plays and plays.
While the world progresses,
changes, and proceeds,
the glockenspiel plays
and plays.
No worries sound from
the silvery bells nor
cares or even
dreams.
Stuck in a present
where nothing else is known,
the glockenspiel plays
and plays and plays.

Crash! Thunder
and lightning
proceed.
Crash! The cymbals
shake the night.
Crash! One second
here. One second gone.
Crash! And then, no more.

The timpanis play
their melancholic tones.
They cry in pain.
Heads pulled tight
to the breaking point.
They bellow in agony.
Harmonies and
contradicting.
Melodious yet
clashing.
Wanted and
hated with
no where to turn.
They scream of their misery
but
not a soul
hears. The
pain, oh the pain,
felt with no end.
But the
music, it brings
hope of new life.
Hope of a
new day.
The timpanis play
their peaceful tones.
They whisper the
secret of tomorrow
but are unheard, except
for me.