There it sits, where I left it,
Not used even by the magicians fingers,
And not tickled by a child searching for fun
On a boredom day,
As the ivory silently plays weeping ballads, dust falls
Upon the golden wood and jet black keys that once sang
In the name of beauty.
Not used even by the magicians fingers,
And not tickled by a child searching for fun
On a boredom day,
As the ivory silently plays weeping ballads, dust falls
Upon the golden wood and jet black keys that once sang
In the name of beauty.
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