The pianists hands rest at his sides A great hall to echo symphonies of a mind is silenced The piano lays untouched, its frigid ivory keys with no warm and clever hands to lead it in song and stop the bitter cold The pianist There is no song in his heart no fuel to his mind The creative clockwork behind those eyes has frozen over Rigid and pained it desprately attempts to creak out a song To heat this chilling silence But like any machine of great excellence it faces its worst enemy Time To melt glaciers but to freeze lakes Time stops all no matter how excellent And its power is fuelled by the unpredictable You never know the exact moment when the lakes freeze over or the songbird dies It simply does And you may deny it But the cold will never be heated by a false harmony The lakes will not return to water The songbird will not rise again