To Lose Your Voice

fm static waves crackle,
unveiling contorted noise wrapped
tightly around simple rhythms,
dial twists,
fingers begging the old antenna to finally pick up something worth it.
"Still my guitar gently weeps...."
still twisting away at that nob.
"Its five o'clock on a Saturday..."
completely uncaring,
white noise piecing,
banging hard on the ears.
"...if you're standing outside the fire.."
Please turn the station!
welcoming every little syllable streaming over the air,
his air,
her air,
breathing in the sweet,
slightly broken music.
"Who am I, that the Lord of..."
Turn it!!
parading ventriloquist ideas
through sold out music,
Hey, them record companies must
Make lots of money.
I can sing!
Can you?
shuts off the music...
What shall I sing?
I don't care,
Just as long as you sound good.