A cello can't be burned. Its whisper may burst Like a cloud whose eyes pour rain. Dance the cloud as life May gain nothing to stay.
Dance the cello as love is a coming day. Any age without love goes to its end. Do dance to wake up again. This cloud's rain is nothing for sleeping shells.
A cello can't be burned. A page ripped from life Can be the cello's nerve. Drop your breath in the cello's chest.
Do dance love on life's slippery steps. Life without love is a burned page. Though a cello is made of wood it can't be burned.