Clusters living in their tyrannical homes,
Clusters sewn together with celestial tones,
As tyrants cast the music into new avenues
To test the waters of unfamiliar taboos.
 
Music of the new is a strange exotic island,
Where melodies and madness together band,
Where forest nymphs and witches live together,
And dance on the air as light as a feather.
 
Tyrants rule the land where clusters form,
Where preludes come to be where sound is born,
As harmonies tie together with smiles and tears,
And music dons her robes as beauty appears.
 
She is a Venus of the new world come to be,
As she dances with the flow of the restless sea.
She floats on the waves and bows to the wind,
As tyrants are born out of tempestuous sin.
 
She points to exotic shores with her scepter,
Where giants with open arms come to help her,
With tears of compassion and musical bliss,
For clouded melodies gone amiss.
 
Ay, the shores of the New World in her sights,
Where music and heaven perform their rites,
Where music is a journey into the land of dreams,
And sewn together by haunting themes,
With memories of a gentle tyrannical cluster,
The father of sound that created a new luster,
Of chordal formations that pushed them on
To complete the symphony of space beyond,
And finally reaching the threshold of pleasure.

In case you are confused about what I am writing about, it is that certain chords in music suggest a certain melody. If it doesn't follow its demands, it sounds very strange.

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