I dance with my cello.
It sways back and forth.
Just like the way I’d hold
The girl I met in the North.
I’d give her melodies of detail.
My fingers that jump along frets.
I gave them to her to hold.
It was the letting go I regret.
So today I use this bow.
To someday play you back.
I now write songs of white,
Instead of those I had painted black.