I am the old piano

I am the old piano, forgotten in the attic, my keyboard’s full of dust,
Among cobwebs and ancient useless trunks with no one memories,
My tired wires cannot play, no more, no fingers are on Earth to trust,
Left all alone in solitude, embraced by darkness arms, I lost abilities…

The last musician ever touched my keys, was doing it with anger,
Disdainfully and careless, so merciless has broke my softly wood,
Has scratched my glossy pretty face and turns out into a carpetbagger
But not before he wounds me well and set on fire even the last score.

Remaining closed in silence for so long, my rusty voice is whispering
A tiny song of hope and faith that someone might once hear and love
The damaged instrument I am, for what I can become, I’m asking
Just a little care, a drop of joy, a ray of sun and a white shiny dove…