A perfect union they make.
Singing together, perfect pitch.
Not one cent sharp or flat.
Together they sang together.
Beautiful, peaceful melodies
Passed through the ears
Of those fortunate enough to hear.
For days on end they sang their song.
For days on end they were in perfect pitch.
But soon they grew distant.
Minute after minute,
Hour after hour,
Day after day,
They grew distant.
As far as two consecutive keys on a piano.
Through constant playing,
A piano starts to fall out of tune.
The pitches grow apart.
And like pianos they grew apart as well.
Dissonant Keys,
So close to each other
Yet so far.
