The Violinist

Within the grounds,
Where the black rose grows,
The children wait,
As well as girls,
To see the one who plays so well,
The Violinist Acronell,
He plays his music for hours,
And he plays his music for days,
The women want to be with him,
The children, learn his ways,
His music teaches of the world,
The ways he cares for some,
But never does he say a word,
He never speaks at all,
So noone knows who he wants,
And none really cares,
For he just plays his music,
To the maidens fair,
To the children young,
But he only plays,
Where the black rose grows,
For he loves it,
And wishes he could be it,
So in beauty he plays,
As the rose in beauty grows,
But yet only he knows,
Where the black rose grows,
For the women and children,
Just follow the sound,
As it falls to the ground,
From the violinist who plays so well,
The Violinist Acronell.