Musica de Amelia Meath del Genero: Lyrics Todos los artistas y cantantes de música de Lyrics son individuos talentosos y apasionados que dedican su vida a crear y compartir su arte con el mundo. Su música de Amelia Meath tiene el poder de emocionarnos, inspirarnos y conectarnos a un nivel profundo. En este blog FoxMusicaDe, exploraremos el mundo de los artistas y cantantes de música del genero Lyrics, destacando su dedicación, creatividad y contribuciones a la cultura.
Los artistas y cantantes de música tienen la capacidad única de expresar sus emociones y experiencias a través de su voz y talento musical. A través de sus letras y melodías, nos llevan a un viaje emocional y nos permiten conectarnos con nuestras propias emociones.
Además de su talento musical, los artistas y cantantes son verdaderos profesionales en su campo. Trabajan arduamente para perfeccionar su
Linda and Stuart, trapped in their apartment
Seventy-ninth and Madison, the one they bought
Fifty years ago. No fancy lobby, no baroque Fresco
The deliverymen, in their light blue surgical masks
Knock twice, leave groceries double-bagged at the door
Then cross the street back to the shop and to the basement below
Last week I called and asked, "How's your relative stock of despair, today?"
Linda replied, saying, "Gabriel, I know I really shouldn't complain
But each month this persists is one that we're not getting back
For we've little time left on this spinning marble:
Her point of view I can't dismiss—and what is there to say, in fact?
So I'm left with hollow platitudes to mumble
Straining to hear a few bars of the Upper East Side
I find I've not allowed myself, haven't really had the time
To miss New York, the freak show light
That universe of regret that I keep locked in a wooden box
With all the other thoughts and self-pity
Maybe sometime yet I'll hop a plane and catch a taxi
Downtown, just to hear the sound of the old city
Sirens and the subway and the slurred words of the shirt-sleeved men
On the town to toast the close of a deal
That shuttered the last factory in every town
In Michigan, where the union boys are stone-faced at the wheel
Linda tells me she's taking a writing class
On the art of the short story, and I say, hey that's great, 'cause
We all need a way to make sense of the world
We all need a way to make sense of the world
We all need a way to make sense of the world