I hear the distant sounds of bright
Machines of earthly hand
At all hours of the quiet night
My focus sounds demand
I wish for chirping crickets then
Instead of crashing things
For music made by careless men
Pales next to that of strings
I hear the distant sounds of bright
Machines of earthly hand
At all hours of the quiet night
My focus sounds demand
I wish for chirping crickets then
Instead of crashing things
For music made by careless men
Pales next to that of strings