All the fighting
All the horror
At my home and
At the war.
People screaming.
I just can't say.
I need to go to my
"hide-away."
My hideaway
Is not a remote place.
It also does not
Have a face.
It is my instrument,
Trumpet to be exact.
When I'm playing it
Erases away all tough facts.
I take out my music book
Though sometimes don't use it.
I just put my mouth piece in and
Create some new music.
I like hearing the sound of
My favorite songs played.
And when I'm playing my music
I have to put on no charade.
