Dreamed I was tuning a piano made of wet asphalt

I'm walking through a town where every piano is buried under the street, and I can hear them humming through the tar. I kneel down with my tuning hammer and the asphalt gives like dough. The notes come out warm and a little bit sad, and I keep thinking — I don't have to fix this, I just have to listen for where it wants to sit. I wake up with my hands smelling like rain.