That Night
That night I learned to play the violin,
the moonlight seemed to dance upon the floor.
The ghost of Paganini drifted in.
He floated there, just looking on in awe.
My bow flashed back and forth across the strings.
The instrument obeyed my every whim.
The music soared on fine, majestic wings.
While Paganini’s face grew e’er more grim.
I played until my worn out fingers bled.
I played until the room began to spin.
I fell exhausted down upon my bed.
That night I learned to play the violin.
That Paganini really is a miserable git.