waiting to be plucked
I let myself carry melodies that were not of my design
I courted each musician, attracting them to my instrument
so of course, I got played
I didn't know what I needed, I didn't know
that real love was not finding another to craft his song with my soul
though innocent as my desires were
So when I heard another heart playing his own song
I tried my hand and set my own heart to tune
Love is not the binding of master to his craft
is is the instrument learning to play itself
it is the writing of your own masterpiece
joined by another original soul in harmony
both dancing all the while
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