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Rhapsodies
The symphonies of the night
Played by itching fingers
Crawling tot the window
The open-minded being the staff of the moments
Notes are placed like thoughts on lips
A song once anticipated became
Overplayed
And routined
An off-key memory
Dizzy hurricane
Blinded by pride
Filled up with lyrics
Never to be followed with a melody
A song without bass
Made the high-riff driven creation
A sea storm of confusion,
A weary wish to see daylight once again
A plague formed in the absence
Fingers didn't long to harmonize
The shrilling silence
Once filled by a philharmonic presence
Moved from the backseat
To the frozen sheets,
Oh god I'm sick of sleeping
Alone.

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Inspired by Backseat Serenade by All Time Low