The Unheard Song

When you shall cross the bridges of pain,

there will be a whispering flute shining in your rain, my dear.

When you shall disappear in the melancholic dreams,

there will be a Beethoven's tune sleeping on your piano, my dear.

When you shall feel the red and scarlet skies,

there shall be a solemn theme peeping through your violin strings, my dear.

And when you will come looking for me;

I shall be at the end of your infinity,

writing your unheard song, my dear.