angela

A barren land lies on its own,
Dry, scorched and deprived of tone. 
In its center, stands mountain of stone
Beaten and weathered, she sits alone. 

“When will my day come, when I’ll be of use?”

Laughter is music that hides in your soul,
The singsong melody that fills your heart to the full.
A light country fiddle could be the spark to ignite
The fire that warms you, even at night.