I see a young boy,
He has tears in his eyes,
And every tear,
I truly despise.

I see a young man,
He's grown with fear in his eyes,
And I know this man,
And sometimes he cries.

But the young man keeps smiling,
A piano he plays,
And he grins as he taps it,
Day after day.

I watch him in board rooms,
In taverns and pubs,
And he plays every tune
That his audience loves.

He closes his eyes
And he keys in the notes,
And through the warm room,
His quiet song floats.

So I know this young boy,
Who's grown into a man,
With pain in his life,
And a piano on hand.

He's been beaten and tortured,
And kicked and abused,
He's been taunted and yelled at,
He's been teased and used.

So I asked him a question,
In that tavern one night,
I asked "How do you smile?
When you've had such a fight?"
But again he just smiled,
And nodded his head,
And tapped on a key,
And sang a song instead:

He sang:
"Play on the keys
That don't make a sound,
If you don't have a keyboard
Then carve it in ground.
Play any tune
That comes to your mind,
If you at all have a problem,
Just leave it behind.
Rap on the keys,
And close both your eyes,
Just let go of your fingers,
And let yourself sigh."

When he finished he stood,
And he bowed and they clapped,
And he sat at my table,
With a beer off the tap,
He said "Let yourself whisper,
Or let yourself shout,
But let yourself smile,
Or a voice go without."