| From a distant room came a lonely tune, hangs heavy in the air | |
| Sounds of scene where often been of depression and despair | |
| People laughing and joking, drinking and smoking, they are not aware | |
| Of the guy or his song as the piano plays on, they don't really care | |
| He's just paid to please them, he's a clown without a face | |
| A sound to fill their silence, a soul that leaves no trace | |
| Every happy song is drowned in, drowned in sorrow | |
| Yet no one sees the tears in his eyes | |
| His dreams are gone, no special song, no tomorrow | |
| No chorus as his spirit slowly dies | |
| In the hazy gloom of this living tomb, a stripper earns her pay | |
| To lusty cheers and the drunken leers, the piano fades away | |
| As she sheds her clothes in a vulgar pose, she strips him of all pride | |
| Yet he plays on such a desperate song, feels a savage changing tide | |
| Won't someone help me? | |
| I just want to play my song | |
| If only you would only listen | |
| I'd be so happy if you all would sing along | |
| I'd have the things that I've been missing | |
| But very soon came the final tune, no worry turned to song | |
| Just an empty stool and a stagehand's call, his weakness was too strong | |
| So twisted and high while starting to fly, he saw the changing tide | |
| And he followed its will, until all was still, the piano player died |
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