A soft, sad, supple
Voice. Oh, but when she sings, the
Skies pour their tears.
A distant sad tune.
But somehow, she makes people
Jump and sing with joy.
He seems possessed by it.
When he opens his throat,
He does bring down rains.
Oh, his voice in the
Higher octaves! When he died
She said it died too.
For twenty-two hours
A day he sings. Who is
There to dare stop him?
He does smoke a lot,
But never does he cough when
He sings with softness.
Her brows furrowed, eyes
Shut in concentration, she
Casts a spell on us.
She was old and she
Was experimental. But,
Sang like a small girl.
A very coarse voice;
He was a visionary.
He just died too soon.
Sang without any
Accompaniment. Just a
Stringed instrument.
~ SHV
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