The strings were broken when you died,
the strings are broken still, but it matters
not because I’m mending strings within
my heart - thus it feels so good to sing
my song to you, today I’ll sing anything
even tant Sannie Briel, if you so desire;
oh how we laughed - all jesting as you
strummed guitar - a few fey chords, all
five of us wailing like banshees with Slim
Whitman-yodelling; we had so much fun
that night - please tell me you remember
it - comforting your soul wherever it is…
[I play for you my old banjo and sing a song to you,
but now the strings are broken so I cannot sing to
you, I took it to a mender's shop to see what they
could do, but still the strings are broken so I cannot
sing to you...]
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