What are songs but harmonies of truth?
Snippets, dashes, frames, mounds,
Of life, of love, of heartbreak and hope;

What is music but an expression in sound?
Feelings written into the chords,
violent melodies of tragedies
And encores of joy;

What is art but a storytelling's skin?
That which laces the audience's souls
Into the work
Through the words, the sounds, the colours;

What is humanity without art?
A lump of immovable stone,
Untouched. Lonely. Alone.
No imprint of life, of living, of loving,
Simply survival and immorality
And then are we human at all?