Music Please!

seven years be washed by the
rain,
seven years that of a broken
heart i crawled,
yet seven years be dead and
buried,
under earth a years deposit,
but still in a sultry october
afternoon,
childlike i walk these streets,
though such innocence i be
devoid,
still scared of nightmares,
scared of that bogieman that love
music accompany,
and i heard of melodies sung,
in neon lights and elvis held mics,
below clouds tears filled,
in black,
in metals heavily on faces laden,
and to such music that a hair
raise,
and a zillion mad men and
women,
entertain and some bewitch,
to tangled tongues and demonic
rituals,
a nero class of ancient romans
well taken,
lies a remedy to torn,
punctured,
or be it a broken heart,
and i that remedy to a second
hand witness be,
for amid wires angrily struck,
and drums that heavily be hit,
and voices that more of banned
enhancer use,
lies nothing that shapes floated
on st. Valentines demise
anniversary,
by crack heads in red and her
relatives groomed,
clutching and others awaiting
flowers after rose named,
and to such music a matey i
agree,
and to it i jump and roll,
rocking to defeaning meaningless
voices,
intoxicated by everything around,
from women in black leather
skirts,
to a smoke that a crop,
descedant of one that on a
wisdom filled king's grave did
grow,
and such be the music that lulls
me to bed