Guitarist On The Terrace

Guitarist on the terrace

your fingers strumming against coarse metal,

your tones so soft and gentle,

as if you're strumming the air into a flower petal.

Vibrations are what sound are, the beauty completely mental.

But is that not all beauty? All of it being in the ear of the listener.

Guitarist on the terrace

I don't even know your name.

When I heard your playing,

Complimenting you was my only aim

But your music wasn't the only thing I noticed about you

Guitarist on the terrace

Will I ever see you again?

There are posters looking for a guitarist

in a rock band.

Auditions are on Wednesday

Nothing deprive the world of such an artist

But I wish I could see you sooner than next Thursday

Guitarist on the terrace

I wonder if you noticed me,

The girl who carried her bagon her shoulders

though it weighed a million pounds

with a coffee cup to ward off sleep as bad as jetlag

Whose demeanor you made carefree

I just wish I could have said hello

Guitarist on the terrace

With the hair black as a raven,

playing an instrument powered by lightning

is it alright for me to be so brazen?

I dontt mean to come off as brash

I only want to properly meet you

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