crease this letter listen to the crispy fold a symphony is held betwixt every valley of ink here in this house of strings where violins live in macabre howls the sweet harping of emotions in trombones' throbbing play side by side to trumpets glaring in all their pain nothing is more miserable than keeping all the music within this fold - hiding all the cries in an envelope, and in the end hoping some enthusiast may appreciate the scribbled love notes that you would never listen to i crave every unfolding and every release even if they are imaginary and wishfully impending but more so, i wish its your heart they'll open to though i know you never liked Pachelbel I send it still and play