There is a chorus,
When it is sung,
It sing the familiar tone,
But in all that,
there is no note,
It steals away the wounded heart,
With the swaying of its sound,
It puts to sleep billowing storms,
And wipes the tears from those that weep.
I imagined this,
Since I cannot hide away in its symphony,
When wounds are dug now from their sleep,
I dream about me,
Embraced in the deep dark forest.