He walks up to me casually, And sits on my stool. He straightens himself, And raises his hands to me. Two black and three white, And I sing sad melody, One black and four white, And I sing tense harmony. My voice is not lost, Yet I sing near eternity, Until he rises from my stool, And walks away proudly. Daniel Prowse 13:01, 6 January 2009 (UTC)