The black guitar, she can’t produce a sound
Mute notes of a melancholic memory
Chords of a ruined past

It was built with rising anger from hell
Painted with tears of pain
Stringed with damned chains

The black guitar, a cloudy past
She conqueror many souls
Without making a sound

It was played by great masters
Used their fears to endure
Used their spirits to become a legend.

To be continued… Maybe