The Music of Sutch

I tell you now,
What I have learned,
That immortality is not locked up,
In iron or gold,
Silver or copper,
Magic or witchcraft.

I tell you now,
How I know.

As I walk, I want to cry.
But I do not.
Something tells me it is not time.

But the Heavens hear my silent plea,
And cry for me.

So the rain falls,
And I look to the skies,
The wind whistles a sad lament,
The trees dance.

Play on, Music Man,
Thinks I,
Play me the music of the earth.

And I remember.

I remember spring days long past,
I remember hearing you play,
Hearing you sing.
I can still hear the old out of tune piano.
The wind still whispers.

With it comes the night,
And cools the thoughts,
To sombre things.

And as I watch those shooting stars,
I think,
Every star must fall,
If it is to rise,
Immortal with the sunrise.

Play, Music Man,
Thinks I,
Play me the Symphony of Sunrise.

I tell you now,
What I know,
That immortality is not locked up,
In fame or fortune,
For that comes only after stars tumble,
And rise with the sun.

I tell you now,
The secret I know,
That immortality is found,
In love and word and action,
For to be immortal,
You must be remembered.
That is it, and nothing more.

Just doing great things,
No matter how simple,
No matter how small,
And touching lives,
By being you.

We will remember,
And make you immortal,
You, Mr. Music Man.

Now stand at the orchestra of the earth,
And play, Music Man,
Play on.
Play us the music of our memories.