What escapes my throat? It cannot be my voice, This unfamiliar note. I never made the choice To thrum my pain in art, Trick the crowd's rejoice, But melody is where I start; Harmony is what they see, Discordant in the heart— This lying jubilee.
What escapes my throat? It cannot be my voice, This unfamiliar note. I never made the choice To thrum my pain in art, Trick the crowd's rejoice, But melody is where I start; Harmony is what they see, Discordant in the heart— This lying jubilee.
