The grand master's piano is playing again tonight.
He plays a concert every night, some are happy some are not.
The grand master's piano pauses now and again, his keys don't work like they used to.
His sounds don't impress like they once did.
His audience, a dimly lit thrift store, is not captivated.
But he continues to play undeterred,
He plays the memories of when the master of his sound discovered his soul.
Of when love and happiness were at the ready.
Before she left, before he cried.
The lonely piano plays his memories every night, some are happy some are not.
But he still feels the soft caress of her delicate fingers.
He can still hear her humming.
Still remembers the secrets she told only him.
One, two, three, the keys keep pressing deep into his dreams of seeing her once again.
Some say she found him, some say it was too late.
I choose to believe that if you listen closely you can hear the melancholy tune of an old piano that has finally found his love.