07-16-2011, 11:56 AM
Hearing the music, as i strum my guitar,
Such beautiful voice, when these strings are plucked.
How sweet, the melodies that these fingers play.
It makes me ponder, where does the music truly lie?
Is it in the strings themselves,
Or is it in these hands that pluck them?
If it were to be in the strings,
Then what a beautiful soul, what voice,
This old guitar has.
But maybe it’s in the hands, which pluck these strings.
Maybe thats how it is.
I posess the music, the music of my soul.
Whereas this guitar,
Is my voice.
The voice of my soul, my dreams, my desires.
Oh, what beautiful melodies, when we are together,
Me and my guitar.
Such beautiful voice, when these strings are plucked.
How sweet, the melodies that these fingers play.
It makes me ponder, where does the music truly lie?
Is it in the strings themselves,
Or is it in these hands that pluck them?
If it were to be in the strings,
Then what a beautiful soul, what voice,
This old guitar has.
But maybe it’s in the hands, which pluck these strings.
Maybe thats how it is.
I posess the music, the music of my soul.
Whereas this guitar,
Is my voice.
The voice of my soul, my dreams, my desires.
Oh, what beautiful melodies, when we are together,
Me and my guitar.