Where shall I let the lines of my heart wander? Stretched taut and drawn, they have snapped back into wayward snarls. Unstrung and unfixed they become discordant and unruly.
There is no song that can be played tonight. There is no music that will come forth from these frayed threads.
A time shall return when the strings are replaced, when new ones are placed once more. The hand of the master shall return and a new story shall play forth.
But that is not for this eve, which carries with it simply the sound of solitude and silence.
Tempering Iron 