It is 2015 again
There is a piano playing not too far from here
And shadows tenderly embrace the boy who sits
The room is empty
Filled with elderly flowers
Though they are not watered, dry as the notes that chime throughout the parlor
For the only water within those four walls
Are the streams sewn to the pianists eyes
As dawn turns to dusk, the song shall end
Yet it will repeat again the following day
With the same notes, unvoiced and ringing
Until winter comes and the room grows cold
The boy will play; forever, yet
Unscathed by the cold
The rivers are rocks now, unable to be touched
But the boy plays
And plays
And plays.
