wooden planks
I sit off in a corner
With nothing else to say.
The other ones are chatting,
While I sigh in Mourning's way.

They think they've found the answer.
They think they're nice and shy.
There's few of them around here,
I still wonder, sometimes, why.

It doesn't really hurt me.
They're obnoxious anyway.
Few can see past "popular."
The others live it everyday.

I reside the bench of music
And the words stick in my head.
I used to care about them,
Though my sole'd already fled.

The music's notes aren't saying
The words I need to hear.
I've sunken, and the next idea
Brings strife and utter fear.

Play your music angered girl,
The ivory chills your hands,
As the strings beneath the wooden planks,
Takes you to distant lands.