Rose Sleeves playing bright melody,
Creating a garden with passionate rhythmn.
Chord after chord,
The nature begins to climb,
To intimidate a coming day so sweet,
a hope so strong,
With dancing hands, dancing feet.
There is something quite majestic about an old electronic keyboard. A small thin layer of dust sits between the keys and the speakers, The squeaky vibrations of each note sing to such a degree of "almost perfection" that it may as well be perfect. The buzz of a midi instrument that in it's time was quite modern, But now has a delightful crisp edge, of an old time classic. Such is the aging process of sound, Like a wine it only makes for sweet nostalgia, For the ears of it's owner.