The soft smell of old must
Hinted in the air
An aged and well-loved carpet
Tread on by generations of shoes
A troop of elderly pianos
With chipped keys from extensive use
A din of music resonates
Echoing lightly on the walls
Here, here we camp
Soaking it all in
The years of bygone memories
The traces of personalities past
Fragments of talent, left behind
Drifting in the air,
Clinging to the walls,
Sleeping in the shadows;
You just have to look with your heart
We rest here, absorbing
An escape from the fast-paced world
A time to rest, heal, and create
A second home to wandering young souls
Just trying to find a place
This is the Music Hallway.
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