He sits there, all alone, under the light of the waning moon
On the green grass, wet from the soft and gentle summerrain
Minding his own bussiness, playing a sad, heartfelt tune
That tells a story of love and happiness, death and pain
‘t Is but the song of life, he would say, should one ask
About the origin of this saddening tune, a haunting melodie
In the meantime he would stop a moment to drink from his flask
Reprimanding you for bothering him, he’d rather have you leave him be
Why is this beautiful song so mournful, why is his life a sad story
For this man it was heaven and hell, being together, now being alone
I guess he has already known his grand moment of victorious glory
And now, after the pain, he’d rather play his tune, sitting on this stone