Making Music
It's telling a story
With my fingertips,
Sliding, flowing across the white keys,
Striking the black keys,
Making noise.
Making music.
Making sound.
It's telling a story,
From fingertips to the air,
Filling the airwaves,
Gliding across the room without a care.
Making music.
Making magic.
Making happy.
It's telling a story,
Can't you see it?
The magic that's flooding
Your mind. It keeps growing,
Like vines, up the walls;
You can feel it,
Filling the very air you breathe,
In and out,
The story.
Making music.
Making magic.
Telling my story.
With my fingertips,
Sliding, flowing across the white keys,
Striking the black keys,
Making noise.
Making music.
Making sound.
It's telling a story,
From fingertips to the air,
Filling the airwaves,
Gliding across the room without a care.
Making music.
Making magic.
Making happy.
It's telling a story,
Can't you see it?
The magic that's flooding
Your mind. It keeps growing,
Like vines, up the walls;
You can feel it,
Filling the very air you breathe,
In and out,
The story.
Making music.
Making magic.
Telling my story.