Grey stone streets under a heavy sky
Cold wind blows while the pigeons fly
He walks slow with a heavy black case
A tired look on a weathered face
Old coffee smells from a kitchen door
Wet footprints on a marble floor
The city sleeps in a deep blue haze
Lost in a winding cobblestone maze
Turning the key to a perfect sound
Bringing the music back to the ground
One silver string and a golden ring
Listen to how the old piano will sing
He opens the lid with a gentle hand
Tuning the wires to a steady band
The cafes wait for the morning rush
The square is held in a velvet hush
Turning the key to a perfect sound
Bringing the music back to the ground
One silver string and a golden ring
Listen to how the old piano will sing
A sudden spark in the cold morning air
A single chord that is honest and bare
He finds the note that the city forgot
A tiny point in a crowded spot
The first light hits the cathedral wall
The shadow of the bell tower grows tall
He packs his tools as the shutters rise
A quiet victory in his tired eyes
The waiters bring out the chairs and the wine
The morning sun makes the wet pavement shine
He walks away with a rhythmic beat
Leaving the music to flood the street
Turning the key to a perfect sound
Bringing the music back to the ground
One silver string and a golden ring
Listen to how the old piano will sing
Just a little sharp.
Now it's right.
Right on the money.
