Taut strings, crisp sounds,
They don't sound the same,
Without, you round,
The chords scream your name,

In protest, I finesse,
The strings won't play,
They're distressed, I'm hopeless,
How did it get this way?

Fingers, linger,
On the fretboard,
loosely, you see,
I can't play a chord,

I'm now less, and I guess,
I'll never play again,
I'm distressed, it's hopeless,
Coz all I play is pain,

Deep mahogany wood,
And smooth curved lines,
Will never replace you...
To think it could,
I must've been blind,
to try and replace you...

With picks, and licks,
It sounds all so cold,
So now, somehow,
I've lost my soul,

To your heart, and I start,
To play this tune,
This spart-an, work of art,
To play for you,

Deep mahogany wood,
And smooth curved lines,
Will never replace you...
To think it could,
I was out of my mind,
To try and replace you...
It was so good,
But I left you behind,
So I didn't face you,
Deep mahogany wood,
And smooth curved lines...

[by elfboy circa 1997]