A light far away in a small wooden hut
Shimmers slowly in her own playful events
An old man makes his evening tea
Leaving a smoke from his rusted chimney
Remembering some old tales of his youth
Shrugs and Chuckle on wandering thoughts
A melody he sang again , once runnin in love blood
His old fingers still knows the touch of his wood
Days turned in months, months in years
Still has all hearts to hear his dear
Birds chirped, wind swept ... silence prevailed
Echoes of past, his ears sustained
None has ever knocked that dusty door,
Wait is never ending for wait is all he hopes
Till the chimney leaves no more smoke
and all the songs .. forgotten and lost
Till the eyes close, watching the bolt
Resting on his wood , he died alone