So I shouted

So I shouted. 

And I shouted again, realizing that singing is a nothing if not a well-heeled cousin of shouting; a pleasant and expressive soul with a love of patterns and poetry. The first utterances sprang forth without specific meaning; a dance around melody and rhythm. The second utterances had pieces of words, the non-specific ideas inside words that help the young and the old understand; susurrus with color and emotion. The third and the fourth threatened to bring real meaning, but the fifth and seventh slid back toward a set of a-prioiri sounds not fully understood, but known by all. 

The chair, still empty, now had different music.