Playing the Frets of War...

I cannot un-say what my mind has said,
Returning to the sight where my eyes had bled.
As I look at these strings with my fingers on the fret,
And playing each rythm is a cause for a threat--

--Warning me of those who I will never know
By judging them quick as a friend or a foe,
Like playing on key as my rythm stays sharp
While waiting on the crowd to let the music embark--

--Creating a tone through its crackeling sounds
Of a polluted mind upon the shattering ground.
As if strumming the frets will explode the peace,
While cutting the sound is like a bomb released.