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So how are we to exist
Without the fiddler playing there?

I ask myself
And this question bangs broken drum

So how are we to exist
Without the pianist playing there?

I ask myself
And this question makes rotten children of us all

So how are we to exist
Without a trumpet playing there?

I ask myself
And I reason no judgement in honour of the vulture.

So how are we to exist?
Without the melodies which secrete our souls?

I ask myself
And the answer finds me deaf.