Sonnet from the Underground Poem by Malte Persson

But which is ‘the song' amongst all songs here?
Someone shies from all that noise around
with black headphones without, from where the sound
can travel down the tunnel of his ear.

So, shall we not say what was being said
of the dead notes littering the wayside,
a thousand corpses to cross on the ride
from here down to the Hades of his head?

How is the true note from the false distinguished?
How will the song escape these human shells,
survive outside and not be extinguished?

Great Pan is dead, the mourning headlines claim,
the Pythia no further future tells.
Those few who still in song believe - the shame!