The Accordionist

In the arcade of Milan The accordionist stands And though the cold bites into his hands The accordionist plays the best he can And his soul takes to the air like an eagle As he sings with his face to the sky But the words of his song Get lost in the throng Of shoppers who go rushing by. On a boulevard in Lyon You might chance to hear his song Though the words get lost in the throng The accordionist sings there all day long But his heart is heavily laden So he sings with his head hanging low He’s tired, he’s lonely He lingers there only Because, where else would he go? And he sings of a girl that he loved once With eyes that burnt like the sun It was so long ago But his heart can’t let go Of the damage that loving has done. In any city street or square You will always find him there And though few listen and fewer care When he sings his song his soul takes to the air.