Violins

Entranced among the dancing masses,

the violins still play.

Wherever you go, the shadows follow

to slow you, to make you pray.

And you can hide, you can cover,

you can even make a run.

But the sleeping greys,

with their fiery passion,

will straddle along the Sun.

The swaying highs and the morning lows,

combined with all the blue,

stops for no one, no matter what

no matter what you do.

And you can hide, you can flounder,

you can even run away.

But then again, it's all the same.

February, March, April, May.

Ten thousand smiles could light the path

with the words that you'll never say.

Entranced among the dancing masses,

the violins still play.