The Pianist at Istanbul Restaurant

The Pianist at Istanbul restaurant
sits in her corner, surrounded by candles
and light guffaw, laughter and dim lights,
as I look at her from my table
as she begins to play her notes,
that fall on my ears, ears unmusical and deaf.
The music she plays scatters everywhere,
as I look at her neat blonde hair and her sad eyes,
as she plays her music that falls on my ears,
ears unmusical and deaf.
And I wonder why she is so sad and what is she thinking about
as I sip my bitter lemon and as she plays her music
that falls on my ears, ears unmusical and deaf.
And I think I will never know why her eyes are so sad
as the candle on my table burns to extinction.
As she plays and I sip my bitter lemon,
and I think why is she so sad and why won't I ever know that.
And why is it always so that my candle burns to extinction
as I sip my bitter lemon and she plays her music that falls
on my ears, ears unmusical and deaf.
How beautiful she looks and how sad her eyes are,
I think I know that I will never know why her eyes are so
sad as I sip my bitter lemon and she plays her music
that falls on my ears, ears unmusical and deaf.