Music in my ears

Something he never gave up; was his music At times it made me think and made me sick His room was a warzone Those striped keys he'd spread his fingers upon never produced an odd tone. When he hit the jazz We'd curse, and call but he'd never turn down the bass He turns the volume up and rock so hard And that gets the old woman really mad She barges in and turns it all down And the rehearsal ends with a happy frown I remember the first time he played Every soul was greatly amazed He played everyone out of their minds A few decades ago, I rewind He could've won the big prize if only it wasn't sold to a white The scam and shame affected his pride All the chants and shouts we poured on him wouldn't change his stance He never fully recovered from the last dance Every voice that echoed in his head And every word we all said Wrote them as his lyrics All day he'd listen to his sweet music Now, faint pictures of him in the skies he's painted bittersweet memories in our lives Indeed he left a mark one that none can track we'll forever miss his trumpet sound And smiles like d coloured stripes on the cloud Our voices were music in his ears now his name is a musical sheet to wipe mother's tears.