Sick on da kit

There's nothing else I'd rather do

the pulsing beats that see me through

providing stable ground for wings

keeping vigil for the crew.

Wooden shafts lie in my grasp

breathing life like blades of grass

keeping time, keep them in line

watch another solo pass.

Flailing limbs, cacauphonous dance

marching forth, a parade of ants

stretching tired muscles taut

sweating through my tight rock pants.

Speed and power, metal tropes

giving lonely children hope

that they too can reach their dreams

cutting down a tightened rope.

The strangeness of china, slashing of splash

I'll never get tired, forever playing thrash

I'll forgo my rest to hone my skills

just in case my dreams finally come to pass.

This is my calling, this is my gift

providing meaning to meandering riffs

I'll dwell in the darkness, shun the limelight

until my soul bonds to the kit.

Author's Notes/Comments: 

I love playing the drums, its my favorite thing to do. pretty good at it too

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