I wish to cry out against the night which holds me captive.
My voice has failed me.
And the thing which breaks my heart more than my situation,
Is the broken piano in the corner of the room.
It wrenches my heart inside my chest.
For a broken piano is more pitiful, even than an out of tune one.
An out of tune piano can still cry out in its despair.
Strangled, strained and warbled as that cry is.
But a broken piano can only crouch silently in its pain.
Not a sound breaks through its broken lungs.
And it dies.