The untuned violin sits, unmoved. Awaiting talent or augury. The times, they are a crescendo unused. With harmony unheard, silence made its pact. And oh, how lyrical misfortune dances!
Remembered shops reek with varnishes untasted, derisory dreams framed within dust-laden strings. "Masterpieces of the Artistry", open windows echo with abandoned sonatas, their tales seldom savored.
Muted Melancholy Cream
~ Wonder why it doesn't sing ~
Violin Whisper Tuner
~ Adjustment most unnecessary ~