GMC:er Posts: 2.412
Joined: 23-February 07
From: New york
It plays like a piano, Soft and entertainable. Each key, ringing by itself. A machine with talent, Gears turning into music.
It hopes the world, Will one day understand, That it has no feelings, It cries only in foreign language. That comes across as broken, Mumbled words, That are never really spoken.
Each note, Rings a bell at the front desk. Inviting people in, Hoping they enjoy. A instrument that runs on its own. One that speaks. But noone understands. Until this place became empty.
It stayed alone, Waiting to be the entertainer. Waiting for someone to finally understand, A guest with a purpose. A machine, Not a man. For [i]hergears turn sideways, And her finish remains vibrant, But noone captures the emotion. Noone has figured out its past. Where its been, What its been through.
Everyone looks past the those scratch's on that vibrant surface, Those gears that arent working well. Wood thats native to a fire, And a seat that remains empty. Forever unoccupied. Forever *Un-entertained*
