mahogany raze you were earmarked for other hands, hands that would always ask the same questions of you. easy questions. predictable questions. you fell into that role as softly and as well as a thing once standing could hope to fall. but you're mine again, and now my hands ask questions that demand different answers. my ears remembered how sweetly you sang, but my fingers almost forgot. 140305 what's it to you? who go blather from