The Lonely Violinist

Sorry for this being so dramatic, i just needed to get some dark stuff out of my system. I hope you enjoy anyway.

It is getting dark,
and the warmth is gone.
After your lover left,
nothing has been the same.

Misread messanges,
drawn onto fogged mirrors,
automatically whiped away,
and never seen again.

The deep dark waters,
washing the shore,
like an old woman and her chores.
She carries them out on her own,
looking up to strangers passing her, alone.

And the crumbled leaves flying,
outside the window of a little girl.
Heartbroken and cold as a tomb,
missing the warmth of her mother's womb.

Its another long night,
with a bankrupt lawyer,
sobbing into his pillow,
for things he never knew, wasted.

The lonely violinist takes a chair,
and sits under a lady's window,
pulls out his violin and starts to play...

That woman and her husband,
pure obligations and law.
A marriage she can no longer stand.
No love, just flaw after flaw after flaw.

But the musicians at balls,
they keep her company,
through the nights she spends alone,
doing time for years wasted, gone.

The lonely violinist's fingers dance.
And the tunes are sawing deep in their hearts,
only living out what stays buried inside.

As it hits twelve a'clock,
he sits on the windowsill,
and watches the peaceful block.
Empty streets and little puddles of mud.

With all the heavy rain,
a broken down whore,
runs banging on the door of her son's father,
for warmth and support she can never have.

The lonely violinist's hands are paralyzed,
but the cold rain is no obstacle to him,
as he keeps the music flowing deep and sharp.

As the first rays of the sun light up the skies,
the troubled souls fall asleep,
whilst the violinist packs his instrument.
Soaked, broken and cold,
he starts walking to where no one knows.

His eyelids are swollen,
from the countless tear-filled nights,
from being the release of emotions,
from having to dig his own grave,

By morning, he'll be gone