The Accordionist
In the arcade of Milan
The accordionist stands
And though the cold bites into his hands
The accordionist plays the best he can
And his soul takes to the air like an eagle
As he sings with his face to the sky
But the words of his song
Get lost in the throng
Of shoppers who go rushing by.
On a boulevard in Lyon
You might chance to hear his song
Though the words get lost in the throng
The accordionist sings there all day long
But his heart is heavily laden
So he sings with his head hanging low
He’s tired, he’s lonely
He lingers there only
Because, where else would he go?
And he sings of a girl that he loved once
With eyes that burnt like the sun
It was so long ago
But his heart can’t let go
Of the damage that loving has done.
In any city street or square
You will always find him there
And though few listen and fewer care
When he sings his song his soul takes to the air.
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