On a morning so dreary,
I posed a query
Of a man so odd
I wondered if he was of God

My question was
‘Will you play a piece, if your friend does?’
And though I dared to hope for better,
He voiced his stubbornness to the letter.

‘I have no friends!’
He said ‘Must I tell you again?’
‘But sir!’ I said
My confidence fed

‘Who are you to say nay man,
When you play music as you can?
My friend it is your gift to the world,
To play a piece with dips and swirls!’

‘Gone with you!’ yelled the man
‘I cannot play as you think I can!’
‘Oh but you can my friend,’ I explained
‘You only forget because of pain.’

‘And I must remind you
Although I truly wish I didn’t have to,
I am your friend,
Must I tell you again?’

Then to my wishes he closed his ears
But still he cried a stream of tears
Tears filled with the pain,
Of his poor ravaged brain