(原詩)

Scraping his bow
The old violinist plays out of tune
Blues on his fingers
The people hurry by
As he plays upon his corner
Sometimes throw a coin
And if they see the pain in his eyes
They just look away

Old men in the park
Spitting at the world
Just count the hours
Faded flowers
Left up on the shelf
Trying to keep warm
In an overcoat of memories
Soon be dead

Scraping for fuel
This crazy old world is quite out of tune
Too many trumpets
The people hurry by
All looking for a corner
And if they meet a friend
Who asks them to repay some old favour
They just look away

Old men in the dark
Sitting on the world
Play cards with words
So absurd
The devil's harmony
Each man to himself
In a well cut suit of selfishness
Just looks away