Not what it sounds like
It feels like
they pulled an old guitar out of a closet
And played without tuning it
Assuming the guitar would sound the same
as it did when they last saw it
But that squawk is not what it sounds like
Nobody else in the house cares about the din
They do not raise complaints
about the awful playing, saying
"We'll probably never see that person again,
There's no point in tuning it for them.
They'll never play that guitar again.
Just get through this one performance."
But when someone new auditions every day
It doesn't matter who is ruining
The sound of a marvelous instrument
By neglecting to re-do the tuning
It all sounds the same. but if they only tuned it, it could have crowds swooning.
The true, lovely, voice of it is unknown to them.
that squawk is not what it sounds like.
It feels like
they pulled words out of a closet
And used them without knowing me
Assuming i would be the same
as i did when they last saw me
But that name is not what mine sounds like
Nobody else in the room cares about the sin
They do not raise complaints
about the awful baying, saying
"We'll probably never see that person again,
There's no point in correcting them.
They'll never see you again.
Just get through this one conversation."
But when someone new meets me every day
It doesn't matter who is ruining
The name of a marvelous person
By neglecting me with their assuming
It all sounds the same. but if they only asked me,
it could have me swooning.
The true, lovely, name of me is unknown to them.
that name is not what mine sounds like.