The day he died his music kept on playing
He lived his life on a plateau of insignificance
Moving from one failed love affair to another
Each time pledging it would be the last
He had only felt true love the one time
A helpless impossible love
A love which had metamorphosed into another kind of love
A love of friendship and compassion
And his music played on
The music was his heart and soul
A kind of music that kindled a fire, within us all
Music of words and feelings, open to all.
Those that listening to the music, those that allowed it to encompass them
Would feel it too
And his music will play on