Whether filled in or not,
whether recalled or forgot.
The songster sings,
whether it\'s autumn or spring.
Unmoved by passing seasons,
resilient heart wounded but deepen.
Below azure skies sits alone,
enduring burden of moans.
Sometimes tainted by pain,
but still a melody in vain.
Sometimes amidst chaos,
but still with unseen pathos.
A symphony of somber tune,
somewhere tender like moon.
Like a string that aches,
but songster knows no escape..