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