You're messing with my heartstrings and it seems out of tune
From now on no one touches these, I cry out to the moon
I'm safe and sound concealed packed within a hard-case shell
protected from the field where the players pitch and sell
I'm not a thing for tampering or trying on for size
we know the score, that love's encore is held back, no surprise
I wait upon the player whose waiting 'round for me
and holding back from the others, well we're cautious as can be
the hand which tunes these heart stings, that good and upright fellow
while waiting fpr the right one, knows with time all good things mellow
and he knows what I am made of, where I've been has hurt the wood
though he doesn't need perfection, knows his skill will do me good.
Messing with my heartstrings is a dicey thing to do
try to get too close and I will also run from you
yet troubles ought not make you hide away from every test
save your heartstrings for the one who handles them the best.