Soul of a Violin

Soul of a Violin

Tom

The old tramp thought himself of no worth,

Born of lowly birth,

'Till to him a master violinist did play,

And the tramp did learn that day,

To play sweetness never heard on Earth.

 

The tramp took an old beat up violin,

No one thought worthy to sell,

Down to the deepest depths of the abyss,

To play for the damned in hell.

He played a melody of great love,

Even the devil bowed to his feet,

Unloosed the chains and the locks,

The damned no more pressed by rocks,

Honey flowed from the depths to above.

 

How is it that old beat up violin,

Played by a tramp of lowly birth,

Made the damned free and whole?

'Twas the beauty inside that beat up violin,

The beauty of its soul.