Each string resonates.Each forms a dissonance with the previous.
No phrasing, no key.
No thematic structure.
No Debussian beauty about it.
The twang almost perforates my drum. Inaudible but memorable.
Nevertheless: stinging.
No chance of a callous to shield the raw flesh. It's triturated.
Something bellowed from the clouds. A promising bellow, accompanied by an enlightening harmony.
* * *
Fantastically: a paragon; realistically: paradigmatic.
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