The artist

The artist hung his drooping frock upon the chair’s back,
His fumbling fingers sought to fix the ascot on his neck…
Lose no time and draw in nearer, where it’s best to hear him,
If you’re still awake and not too drunk…

Of the joys and of the sorrows, good and evil ways,
Of vile searing hatred and of sacred love,
All that passed and all that passes in our lands and days,
He played a melody, and stories came alive…

The ruthless years just race and fly, the planet spins and frets,
And why you came into this world at times you might forget,
Sings the violin and strikes a chord with music of your soul
If you’re still awake and not too drunk…

Refrain

And now the violin is spent for all that fear and pain,
The weary maestro sipped on wine, but still – that bitter taste,
And he left, good-byes forgetting, left on stage his silent case,
Could the old fiddler have been drunk?

But the melody still hovers in the misty haze,
Among the bustling crowds, a gentle song of flowers…
Of the joys and of the sorrows, good and evil ways,
Of vile searing hatred and of sacred love,