instrumental

music city

The beat makes me go
makes my fingers move
makes my hips move
picks me up by my thoughts
on which I normally choke, and
flies me to a different place

a space
where the right words are never hard to find
where the doors of my mind are open
and the canvas is aching

to be stained
by my imagination.

My emancipation must come with headphones
I listen when the silence quiets.

My heart pumps blood
but so does the bass.

I lay down
like a bridge over trebled waters
and sing my freedom.

I fly away three minutes
and twenty-eight seconds
at a time.

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