Strum me like a guitar, I make music in your hands.
Calloused tips tip the scales in the favor of the player,
Make me sing the high notes of praise and inspire the guttural calls of heat.
Drum me daringly, devastingly, daintily, I keep the beat under your hands.
My skin is tightly strectched for your percussionary pleasure.
Bang out of me the response to the deep timpani’s call.
I am a flute under your lips, blowing sweet sounds under your command.
Press my buttons and ply tunes gently from my metal casing.
Lead the band with the pure mucsic you pull from me.
No comments:
Post a Comment