Once they watched him, not like now
He searches for their gaze, recalling when
Sweeter notes soared from his sweeping bow
In those days, he was a king of men
At festivals, his band were hot and loud
In his bolero jacket pencil thin
He could nail them, kill any crowd
He could astonish with his violin
Before the gigs dried up, the nights grew cold
The girls would scream and whoop with surprise
Then there was lustre in his gypsy gold
He played them with his fiddle and his eyes
On this weekday night in this sad place
His dark eyes flash in his pale face
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