Symphony of the Scarred

The alleyways whisper of battles we lost, We count up the bruises and measure the cost. A cracked wooden neck and a bow string frayed tight, We bleed for the music we make in the night. The rosin is flying like ash in the air, A symphony born of a lover's despair. So raise up your glasses to nights in the dark, Where every cold blow leaves a beautiful mark. Oh, it’s violence and violins, dancing in time, A beautiful pain in a bitter design! The strings they are weeping, the knuckles are torn, In the crash of the storm, a new melody’s born. The whiskey is sweet but the memory stings, Listen close to the song that the broken heart sings. There’s grace in the struggle and truth in the scars, We’re howling our grief to the unforgiven stars. Oh, it’s violence and violins, dancing in time, A beautiful pain in a bitter design! The strings they are weeping, the knuckles are torn, In the crash of the storm, a new melody’s born. The fist and the bow, they are one and the same, We write out our sins in the shadow of blame. And we cry... oh, how we cry... Oh, it’s violence and violins, dancing in time, A beautiful pain in a bitter design! The strings they are weeping, the knuckles are torn, In the crash of the storm, a new melody’s born.