The musician lays his lute upon the shelf.
The musician folds his life away.
The musician has lost his only love.
The musician died in part today.
His words were stormy,
Now they're forever stilled.
His eyes were fire;
Now they've lost their will.
His songs—his children—Have been put away.
He will not answer. He cannot hear you.
He died in part today.
His grief cannot be lessened,
He has to feel this pain.
His ears can't hear his music.
He knows he'll never sing again.
The musician puts his old life behind him now.
The musician must start over.
The musician trades his strings for a palette.
The musician paints his songs with his tears.
Created: Sunday, 19 October 1997, 8:00pm
Last Updated: Sunday, 19 October 1997, 8:00pm
Page Contents © 1997 by: Gael MacGregor (UNLESS OTHERWISE NOTED)
THIS PAGE was Sorta CREATED WITH:
HTML Writer by Kris Nosack *and* used information, tips & silliness in:
The Complete Idiot's Guide to Creating an HTML Web Page (Second Edition)
