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.
Jan 2, 2018
Jan 2, 2018 at 5:46 PM UTC
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.
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