My fingers have played their last note,
The sweet melody is no more;
My instruments lay abandoned on the floor,
No use are they to me anymore.
My flute is still, as silent as the night,
No tune does it make.
My guitar-strings are now too tight;
There’s nothing I can do to make it right.
My music sheets fly freely in the wind,
The conductor cannot scold me now.
My voice is not pitch perfect;
The last note
Has died in my throat,
And it is with this final beat
That I must end,
The story of my life.
