Razorblade symphony

The conductor’s tense arm remains poised in the air, and ready to start up his work of despair. There’s one thing to do, then commence with the song: With a flick of his wrist he waves his baton. His wild, frantic gestures bring forth scarlet notes that drip from his soul and in him evoke a sense of fulfilment he’s craved all his life- a sense of fulfilment that transcends his strife. As with all things, the music must die, fading away into the night sky- leaving behind his abject misery, that died when he played his last symphony.