Among the crowd where few souls remain,

At the crossroads of cobbled streets,

Where darkness has fallen and the light has gone out,

Closing her eyes to this world,

A girl plays the violin.

In her there’s so much joy and sorrow,

So much great love, so much compassion.

Her wounds are weeping… blood runs down the strings.

She never stops, and every time,

Rising above her own anguish,

She plays—brighter than the lark’s song.

But through the moving shadows, empty and cold,

Along the crossroads of the chilly, cobbled streets,

The music carries on—her solitude echoes.

They are deaf… they are blind.

For among the crowd where few souls remain,

A girl plays the violin.