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Watching old home movies, the seeds so evident |
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Little did |
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I know back then what my tapping fingers meant |
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A compulsive urge to hum a tune, to touch a piano key |
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In every sound and rhythmscape, |
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I found a piece of me |
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The picture began to become more clear, my purpose more firmly grounded |
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The day I sat at my brother's drums, picked up his sticks and pounded |
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I felt the ceiling open up, heart and mind were lifted |
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This primal force convincing me, my goals in life had shifted |
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Then I learned a few guitar chords just to seal the deal |
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The power of music |
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I could not ignore, the surge inside me real |
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I plucked away at |
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Misfits' tapes 'til |
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I could play along |
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Then came the happiest day |
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I've known- when |
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I wrote my first song |
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A few interruptions since, |
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I'm back where |
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I belong- pen and paper, sticks and strings, the quest for the perfect song |