The Old Piano Player
The old piano player tapped a tune but none could tell,
His hands were stiff and frozen, eyes stared into hell.
Tears fell from his cheek bones disappearing in his sweat,
As the lyrics told the story of the demons he had met.
Oh, he played with such emotion, his raspy voice sincere,
Yet the crowd paid no attention to the music in their ear.
They were there for drinks and laughter, forgetting for a while.
While the old piano player sang away his life's last mile.
There were countless roads he'd traveled, with companions now and then.
Fortunes gained, treasures lost to iniquities great den.
Many gods had been before him, he embraced them one by one.
Weaving webs that he had crawled on, now the last was being spun.
Still, the good crowd didn't hear him, as he sang into the night.
Life limped slowly through the rhythm, when the end came into sight.
Then, someone touched his shoulder. "Play a song we know," he said.
And the old piano player, fell upon the keys --- quite dead.
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