The night was cold and still.

A man sat alone with a glass

before him and listened to

the sound of the wind

outside the house.

He had been reading words

for many years and had learned

that good ones carried weight.

Bad ones died quickly.

He spoke a few aloud.

They sounded different

in the dark.

Soft words moved quietly.

They slipped through

the room like smoke.

Hard words struck

clean and sharp.

word sounds...

word music...

let the non believers stand aside

and say their way of thought

of us just copies of what was true

if only they can see us now

we make our own music

word sounds...

word music...

word sounds...

word music...

Break.

Burn.

Brick.

You could feel them

in your chest if they

were true words.

He thought

about the sea then,

and the sound of

waves against a boat at night.

The sea had its own language.

So did rain.

So did a woman saying your name

when she loved you

and when she no longer did.

word sounds...

word music...

let the non believers stand aside

and say their way of thought

of us just copies of what was true

if only they can see us now

we make our own music

word sounds...

word music...

word sounds...

word music...

A word was never only

a thing to mean something.

That was the smallest part of it.

The real thing was the sound.

The rhythm.

The way it stayed

in the blood after it was spoken.

The lamp burned low.

The room grew pale

before morning.

word sounds...

word music...

let the non believers stand aside

and say their way of thought...

of us just copies of what was true

if only they can see us now...

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we make our own music

word sounds... (word sounds... )

word music... (word music...)

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word sounds... (word sounds... )

word music... (word music...)

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Still he sat there listening

to the silence because

silence also had rhythm,

and a man who writes

must learn to hear it.

word sounds...

word music...

let the non believers stand aside

and say their way of thought...

of us just copies of what was true

if only they can see us now...

██|██|██|

we make our own music

word sounds... (word sounds... )

word music... (word music...)

██|██|██|

word sounds... (word sounds... )

word music... (word music...)

██|██|██|

I have no voice,

yet I sing in every tongue.

I live not in meaning,

but in the way words are sung.

word sounds...

word music...

let the non believers stand aside

and say their way of thought...

of us just copies of what was true

if only they can see us now...

██|██|██|

we make our own music

word sounds... (word sounds... )

word music... (word music...)

██|██|██|

word sounds... (word sounds... )

word music... (word music...)

██|██|██|