Musical Chairs

A mythical musician

With a flipped composition

No guts nor glory

Just a story of prepositions

No buts, or decisions

Just listen

Name was David, but MOM called him Dave

A horrid man; tall as a ceiling fan

He was a slave

He fell victim to environment

Murder was the case

Yes, Dave conspired it

Whether or not he realized, he was the fire that started fits

Throughout his childhood, he took many hits

From MOM, she would never quit

Beating after beating, how could spirits be expected to lift?

They couldn’t, so Dave reacted on im-pulse

She said he wouldn’t, but her death was the re-sult

Dave was only twenty years old

A sad story, let it unfold

His heart grew cold


And his sorrows began to bestow


Mama Dave was slain through musical notes

But the seed was believed to be the cause

David was the problem and couldn’t be resolved

He would scream and inflict the pain

For two decades, MOM cried throughout the rain

Night after waking night…

Day after sleeping day…

They would always fight

Even though Dave had nothing to say

Dave was never real

He was just a voice in her head

Every morning, MOM would slice her wrists while laying in bed

The scars remained and she could take no more

She slowly opened and walked through the bedroom door

To her left, on the floor, was a radio

Say it ain’t so, it played a chilling song

Soon, so soon, the villain Dave would be gone

Music through her ears, dare not she shed anymore tears

No more hatred

No more laughter from her peers

She looked right and saw herself in a mirror

The agony was always there and the bruises only grew clearer

No more patience; there was no longer any fear

Dave starting gnawing; yelling for help

She walked to a chair; wind from the ceiling fan was felt

Rope in hand; a single tear then fell

Life was to be over

She climbed the chair and hung herself

Life was to bare no more weight on MOM’s shoulders


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