A kid at the pawn shop just bought his first drum machine,
From the slums, but them buttons will take him to another kingdom,
A woman humming in a kitchen in brazil,
While 50 tenants listen by sticking there heads outside the window sill,
This shit is real,
Hear the sounds across the land,
No name brands,
Woman and man jam on pots and pans,
A musician with lost dreams,
Sitting on concrete,
Playing his heart out on missing guitar strings,
Street performers for a quarter put on the show of there life,
An emcee gets put on the spot rocks it and tears up the mic,
The human instrument,
Reaching continents in long distances,
No need for sophisticated systems for us to listen in,
Countries at war, expressing hate through there aggression.
While two musicians on each side are having a jam session,
Whether both em know it or not, they are collaborating.
You never know which way your music is navigating,
Across the seas I hear piano keys playin,
Translating languages through the rhythms in beats banging,
A universal exchange, of personal pains and joys,
It started with a verse, each person just came and joined in,
Some are complete strangers, some only teenagers,
All of us creators, we are the dream makers,
Internationally transmitting through bandwidth,
Passing this bands passion so the masses can jam with us,
All are invited to play, none are required to pay,
Let the virus spread, inspire heads,
Just listen and breathe to it,
I hope that you feel movement,
Different souls around globe, connected through sound making,
They set the foundation now we take it to groundbreaking.
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