Culture

Go to sleep wretched fingers

Those wretched set of fingers

Twisted and bloodied

From bearing false witness

Pained and bruised

Like an inflamed ego flapping in the wind

Oh they have cramped

Bearing the weight of empty noise

Those wretched set of fingers

Pointed and shouted

Should have been long muted

Were allowed to cast stones

But the stones seared the fingertips

No lovely manicures could hide the stench

They are too sullied for the masses

Those wretched set of fingers

Tried to cut off the air

And now the piano plays them

Dripping bile from the pores

The bile from an acid-laced tongue

The heart already gone

The fingers no longer direct the orchestra

Go to sleep wretched fingers

May a path loom near

May new light be sewn in

Go to sleep now

Go to sleep

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