maybe it's not that we sing different songs.
maybe our words are exactly the same
but we just play them to a different beat.
where i'm slow, you're fast
where i'm whimsical, you're strong
where i linger and pause, you rush far ahead
and where we could make beautiful music
we get stuck.
in a clinking. clanging. banging. mess.
dissolving this would-be symphony
into a hum of cluttered riffs