the music haunts me
much like a poltergeist
destined to a house on a hill
it follows me, the music
it makes me feel alive
it takes hold of my heart
and forces it to follow the rhythm
the sound of the drum
shrill of guitars
it lingers in the air
like warm apple pie
but the music is not alive
it cannot survive on its own
the music is not its own
the music is me
i am a slave to it
but only as much
as i enslave it
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