|
From a distant room came a lonely tune, hangs heavy in the air |
|
Sounds of scene where often been of depression and despair |
|
People laughing and joking, drinking and smoking, they are not aware |
|
Of the guy or his song as the piano plays on, they don't really care |
|
He's just paid to please them, he's a clown without a face |
|
A sound to fill their silence, a soul that leaves no trace |
|
Every happy song is drowned in, drowned in sorrow |
|
Yet no one sees the tears in his eyes |
|
His dreams are gone, no special song, no tomorrow |
|
No chorus as his spirit slowly dies |
|
In the hazy gloom of this living tomb, a stripper earns her pay |
|
To lusty cheers and the drunken leers, the piano fades away |
|
As she sheds her clothes in a vulgar pose, she strips him of all pride |
|
Yet he plays on such a desperate song, feels a savage changing tide |
|
Won't someone help me? |
|
I just want to play my song |
|
If only you would only listen |
|
I'd be so happy if you all would sing along |
|
I'd have the things that I've been missing |
|
But very soon came the final tune, no worry turned to song |
|
Just an empty stool and a stagehand's call, his weakness was too strong |
|
So twisted and high while starting to fly, he saw the changing tide |
|
And he followed its will, until all was still, the piano player died |