by April Self

Created on: January 22, 2012   Last Updated: February 04, 2012

Sounds of discord, scorning laughter;
How they mingled with the deafening cracks of shattered glass.
Forgotten, and fading was ‘a happily ever after.’
The band played on.

The violent sound of rain clanging in rusted metal pails;
Constant dripping through a leaky roof left to time’s cruel devices.
No sweet relief from a harsh voice’s torrent of abusive yells.
The band played on.

The musty smell of disrepair,
Permeated a room with shabby accents, and poorly lit spaces.
Furniture barely functional, yet still was held captive there.
In the background, the band played on.

Cheap cigarettes and empty beer cans strewn about,
A stale taste left in the mouth, the smell lingered in the air.
A silence loomed never peaceful, was not always better than a shout.
Tears muffled in a torn and pitiful blanket, and still the band played on.

Broken pieces, broken dreams,
Amidst the tattered pages
Of a story retold too often;
Skipping and sticking in spots,
An old scratchy record kept playing

Yeah the band played on.

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