The Violin Maker
words and music by Bill Pere
 

He'd work late each night
And the lamplight cast his shadow on the shade,
And the violins he made
Would be hidden in a dusty corner,
Shyly tucked away
When he felt like conversation,
He'd begin to play

They'd help him say the things
He could not say with a word;
They'd help him tell the tales he'd heard.
They were the women, the children, the sons, the daughters,
The friends he'd never found.
They'd answer all his questions,
With a sweet and velvet sound

He could make them laugh, he could make them sigh
As he'd play so low, as he'd play so high...

From his window, he'd see the city street
Where the people swarmed like flies
He saw the sadness in their eyes
And he wished there were something he could do
To send some happiness their way
But he was just a shy old man
Who couldn't think of what to say

Sometimes at night,
His conversations trickled to the ground below
He didn't know
That there beneath his window,
There would always be a crowd
And if he saw their smiling faces,
Then he'd have been so proud

That he could make them laugh, he could make them sigh
As he'd play so low, as he'd play so high...

  Bill Pere. All Rights Reserved

 

 


"If a man tried to take his time on earth and prove before he died what one man's life could be worth,  I wonder what would happen to this world?"  --- Harry Chapin