He played for us an opus,
of dirty chords and screaming metal.
This magic-man, rocking with the notes.
Long, tangled hair a-flying, eyes shut tight.
Sweat trickling down his chest,
shutting out the frenzied cries of the multitudes,
rapt inside his cacophonous bubble.
Lights, as bright as the sun, shine over him like a halo.
As if the gods themselves sculpted him,
and gave him to us as a gift.
Nimble fingers burning across the guitar strings,
nothing but a blur to we lesser mortals.
Feeling the bass beat of the drums in my very marrow,
feeling like a tiny magnet drawn to a metal behemoth,
I watch....
and listen.
His face is raised to the sky now,
that final piercing note wailing away to silence.
A smile etching its way across his face.
And the lights go down.
There is nothing left but the thunder of a thousand hands,
and a thousand feet,
beating out the tempo of our last request....
Encore!
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