One solace I can take while sitting amongst corn fields, amongst blindness, is between the monotany of popular (for them) music there is a twang even I can’t resist.
In her search for remnants of life before the war, se found the neck and stings of a stringed instrument, and later a wooden box. She later put them all together to make what she called, a ‘banjo.’ And a string band with the roving band of kids was formed.
Chanpheng
Music cutting through the trees.
They’re laughing, enjoying the campfire, and he aches to go join them.
But he’s not one of them, not really.
He’s just a kid playing dress-up, pretending he belongs out here.
He’s no rancher, no cowboy.
He’s no one.
He looks up at the stars, wonders if he’ll ever find a place that feels like home.
The banjo plays on, and the cows lowing nearby sound almost like a song.
One solace I can take while sitting amongst corn fields, amongst blindness, is between the monotany of popular (for them) music there is a twang even I can’t resist.
In her search for remnants of life before the war, se found the neck and stings of a stringed instrument, and later a wooden box. She later put them all together to make what she called, a ‘banjo.’ And a string band with the roving band of kids was formed.
Music cutting through the trees.
They’re laughing, enjoying the campfire, and he aches to go join them.
But he’s not one of them, not really.
He’s just a kid playing dress-up, pretending he belongs out here.
He’s no rancher, no cowboy.
He’s no one.
He looks up at the stars, wonders if he’ll ever find a place that feels like home.
The banjo plays on, and the cows lowing nearby sound almost like a song.