I face his giant, oily, gray head.
His solid strong body sits tightly on the stool,
gripping, attacking the keys...
with his madness.
The sadness it creates,
from deep within his soul.
It aches in my heart.
I thought I saw a tear,
drip black from his black eyes.
From beneath his thick rimmed glasses...
I thought I saw.
His sausage fingers move side to side,
his foot caresses the pedals...
It's the only time I've cried for him...
When he offers a glimpse of his humanity.
It is when I have loved him,
when he has said in music what he could never say in words.