She played poppy notes upon remembrance day, and sang from poppy red lips for those petals of humanity, the brave who gave everything that they were or ever could be - all so that we could be free.
He played his guitar as if it were democracy's freedom bell, for in his art was truth, wisdom and well rooted love.
The musical artist was the survivor in the rubble of the house of love, the one who could fix what hell had shattered.
With a guitar as his wand the musical artist was the magic we needed to lift up our souls, to release the loving versions of our wan souls.
I make my sound so you and I can be sound, can join the airwaves upon our own lyrical Falcor.
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