The music man had
Sung the same tune
Strummed the same guitar
Since he was eleven years old.

The hurried shoes changed
The rusted coins clanged
Still day after day, he played

He was once young and bright
Radiating musical light
But still, no one stopped to listen

Through the seasons and years
He played for deaf ears
And wondered if he was a ghost

He got old and gray
His clothes starting to fray
Age had darkened his glisten

Like an aging tree he bent
As the people came and went
And still, no one stopped to listen

His heart stopped beating in his sleep
As he was lying on the cold, dark street

And still, no one stopped to listen

When the music man arrived
Tears fell from the skies
As a room full of people
Sang his song.