When the shells had ceased their falling
|
The young muslim and the serb
|
Listened for the old man's music
|
But now not a note was heard
|
|
And fearing what had happened
|
Each did, what should not be dared
|
And made their way through no man's land
|
To the old medieval square
|
|
They arrived at the same moment
|
In the cold december air
|
But neither pulled a weapon
|
For each knew why they were there
|
|
And they walked over to the fountain
|
And found him laying there in death
|
There was blood upon his face
|
The smashed cello on his chest
|
|
But then a single drop of liquid
|
Fell from out the cloudless sky
|
And it fell upon the cheek
|
Of the man who had just died
|
|
And the soldier felt a shudder
|
For the worst had come he feared
|
When the only sing of pity
|
Was a single gargoyle's tear
|
|
He turned to the young woman
|
And he said let's leave this war
|
But a soldier and his uniform
|
Was all that she now saw
|
|
-----------------
|
Christmas Eve (Sarajevo 12/24)
|
| Savatage |
