Violin Song

Lying on the couch
With my head on the arm
There is really nothing wrong
Nothing wrong all is warm
As the tv hums I grow weak and curled up
There is always something more
Something i haven't done
Here's that voice
Travels up the stairs
A deafening noise
I'm tight as a drum
Wish i were as numb
In that drafty room
Floor of stone
Sharp and cold
My dad proudly at his desk
Me deep under duress
In that drafty room fingers arched as they get
There is always something more
Someone getting upset
Here's that voice
Travels up the stairs
A defeaning noise
I'm tight as a drum
Wish i were as dumb
And oh, that scream
Travels down the hall and into my bloodstream
I'm tired of this one
Wish I were all done now