A piano that only speaks before the sun, each note a hush, each key a memory, each silence more than sound.
Listen
Lyrics
It only plays before the sun
when the sky still holds its breath
Each key pressed by a silence
too soft to speak of death
No hands, no player, no reason—
just notes that fall like ash
A melody that limps along
then vanishes in flash
The wood is cracked with listening
The pedals sink in prayer
The bench has grooves from ghosts
who used to sit there
Once a song came out in Latin
though no one in town could read
Another came in sobs and bells
and wilted every seed
It weeps in minor auguries
and hums in rusted thirds
No lyrics, just suggestions
of forgotten, half-spent words
A dog once howled in harmony
then slept for seven years
A child touched a single chord—
and tasted someone’s tears
It played a hymn for no one
at the edge of someone’s war
Then drifted into thunder
that asked for nothing more
It cannot be recorded
It defies the shape of sound
But if you pass near sunrise
you’ll feel what’s not around
And if you lean too close to hear
it might just play your name
Then hush itself forever
before it can explain
About this song
Keys pressed by no hands, melodies that vanish at first light, this is the music of the dawn’s hush.
Return to: The Almanac of Impossible Folk