You are the music and the words
The lead guitar and the verse
You are the birds chirping away
And the soft november rain
You are the knit sweater in the winter
and the bare feet throughout summer.
However, you are not the commercial during my favorite program
The pencil shavings on the floor
Or the itch that cannot be reached
And you are certainly not the stale bag of chips
There is just no way you are the stale bag of chips.
It is possible that you are the wind in my hair
Maybe even my temporary wings
but you are not even close to being the mural on the wall.
And a quick look in the mirror will show
That I am neither the mud puddle outside
nor the untouched layer of snow.
It might interest you to know
Speaking of the aesthetics of life
That I am the waves crashing on the shore.
I also happen to be the crunchy leaves
The grass that has gotten too long
And the doodles on the math homework that got too confusing to finish.
I am also the elusive dragonfly
And the lost explorer
But don't worry, I'm not the music and the words
You are still the music and the words
You will always be the music and the words
Not to mention the lead guitar and somehow-- the verse.
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