I turn around to grasp your neck,
to fill the air and strum you on,
to suffuse the mind with aural gleam,
And I turn around to find you gone.

I recall the days of splendid sounds,
the notes and tones and beats you spawn,
Then I feel that it was all a dream,
And I turn around to find you gone.

The pick is lonely, the mic dejected,
My throat, in memory, does only mourn,
I sing alone your sweet refrain,
And I turn around to find you gone.

The air is bland, my life is chilling,
all music, sans you, is traffic horn,
I miss your sonorous voice in pain,
And I turn around to find you gone.