Standing; I'm Standing Behind the Music

The place I hide,
Is not a place,
Its a corner of my mind.
That comes to me when I
Listen to my prefered music.
The music could be Runrig;
Thier melting Gaelic sounds,
Or classical, like Pierre Gynt's,
'In the Hall of the Mountain King'.
And as I listen to the sound,
I fade past the notes and words,
To the feelings, thoughts and images,
That comes through the playing sounds,
To form the musics dreams.
The majestic raising Firebird,
The anger of the King,
The scottish beauty running though,
My soul, my mind, my heart.
And as I 'listen' to the sounds,
My pain just pours away...