The moon is cast into the heavens
By strong arms of old oak trees
A fire crackles softly
Sparks die out upon a breeze

He places calloused fingers
Carefully upon the strings
And a weathered old guitar
Softly soon begins to sing

He plays out into the night
For the stars alone to hear
He plays of days gone by
And of loved ones once held dear

They twinkle their approval
And they seem to ask for more
His fingers begin bleeding
Growing stiff and growing sore

He plays on through out the night
Every song he can recall
His passion overwhelms them
And the stars begin to fall

His fires nearly gone now
This is his final act
He feeds the embers his guitar
As his soul is welcomed back