The musician and artist

12

Play your last piece of music

On your violin of gold and silver,

So that violets and roses may blossom

By the side of your tomb

Paint one last picture

Of your face before you sleep

We will adorn it in carving

On that marble slab before thy grave.

 Death is silent, even your stringed pieces will be quiet,

Death is formless, even your pretty face will turn to bone,

Death is the best musician,

His beginning is its end.

 

Death is the finest artist,

 

Whatever he paints drops dead instantly!

 

 

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