You told me I could go anywhere, be anyone, do anything, yet all I am is a mix tape randomly set and brought together under some sort of sad theme. You told me ambitions are alright as long as they make sense, then why am I not a radio station with some sort of upbeat funk or some weekend music? Why can I hear pianos and violins rather than trumpets, flutes, accordions, or even electrically generated techno club music? Where’s the groove in my soul, when all I can sing are these navy blues? Where’s it gone to? Where’d it disappear to, since you said that having hope is valid and reasonable? I thought I deserved the best, but why’s my symphony so cheap? Why do I sound like a broken record? Why isn’t anyone listening to my station in their cars on the way back home? Why’s this what my future’s come to? You told me I was worth a bloody damned fortune, then where’s all the filthy cash? Where’d it waltz away to? Why can I only make people weep and not dance? Why? Why can’t anyone bear the sound of my notes? I thought hope was what I am, but it turns out I’m just another forgotten harmony after all, so no need to rewind; just pause me.

29/04/2015