The Piano

I sleep inside my state of weakened squander
Where few minds, in time, have rarely wondered
And though I have fallen to death's sweet song
Like a piano's somber serenade

It echoes as the sweet and tender rain
With each raindrop crash, they speak your name
As this tune, I have been named and have been played
Is always as my beautiful tender song

Forever binding me to death's serenade
And black, their curse, fill my mind with these thoughts
As though I perform love itself upon the stage
And nearly fall where the music has seized

Where minds have rarely wondered and changed
And notes are always changing in there arrange
To echo through time with me, and nothing more
To echo as the single sound in my corridor.

And though the music is this tender rain,
It seems to be, you, in the windowpane
Speaking as though all my thoughts arranged
Leaving me to play this cursed piano song

Far from the realm of sleep, far to long
Speaks tears upon my vacant windowpane
To echo through time with me, and nothing more
To echo as the single sound in my corridor

For in these thoughts, wrought pain upon my dreams
But I still love the sound of your sweet serenade
I still love the sound of the tender rain
Even though this curse has brought me pain

I sleep inside my state of weakened squander
Where few minds, in time, have rarely wondered
And though I have fallen to death's sweet song
Like a piano's somber serenade

Where minds have rarely wondered and changed
And notes are always changing in there arrange
To echo through time with me, and nothing more
To echo as the single sound in my corridor.