There in the background is a soundtrack hum.
Cars past but the beat and the whispered lyrics remain.
No violins.
Just the song that's followed you your entire life.
You can't get it out of your head.
You can't remember the lyrics or the chords.
If you could only make it stop repeating you could end this movie and
fade to black.
White letters scrolling up, telling you who was in control.
Scrolling up and telling you who played your part.
5. So much potential here that didn't happen. Think about the word 'hum' - that's a great word, sounds exactly like what is. There's plenty of opportunity for sonic details like that which just don't happen. The poem is basically too generic.
another guy named Kipling... may name that as being... the burden.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
I think it is good but I think it could be said better with slightly different wording.