As music came forth and set the mood
For a lonely cello to express the solitude,
Of a mournful story weighing on his mind
Of sadness and all of tribulations combined,
With trembling fingers that embraced his bow,
He stroked the strings to make love grow.
And what is beauty but music in the sadness,
Of broken and mended hearts expressed?
For every motion in the music there are tears,
Atop the sound board as sorrow appears,
Living through the music with life unfolded,
He played the cantata with his fingers bled.
He relived his life and turned every page.
Then he laid motionless on that fateful stage.
Then rested in peace as he played in heaven
And put his life into the music again.