The Violinists Vendetta

As the hail makes love to the streets I query its vendetta with I What had I done to be defamed By such unforeseen chagrin The sound ‘tis the climax of the horizon Echoes that of a violinist scarred by sexual mortification The harmony plays in quite a lovely manner Could hook one quickly if not careful Appeased I sit in a wooden, black chair And saturate in fine rock refrains A pacifying compensation if I may say A scripted version of hell