You’re sitting in the splendor of a lofty, golden palace,
Eating cakes and sipping wines and wearing ties to galas…
When life knocks at your door, and your walls come tumbling down,
And you look to see the score, and the score says lonely town…
Where the pieces of your dreams are all scattered near and far,
And you want to fetch them up, but you don’t know where they are,
And as the violins play low, and the melody runs deep,
You want to up and go…but you cannot move your feet.
Until someone comes along, but you can’t recall the name,
And you can’t recall the time… but you know them just the same.
And as the remnants of your dreams slowly fall back into place,
You find that you can move and so you do it… with all haste.
You run into the night and soar upon your freedom,
You want to build your distance from that dark, foreboding kingdom.
You do not stop to eat, and you do not stop to drink,
You do not stop to reason and you do not stop to think,
Until the violins play low and the melody runs deep,
And there’s nowhere left to go and there’s nothing you may keep.
And there’s nothing left to learn and there’s nowhere left to turn,
And there’s nothing left at all… but the writing on the wall.
Your life becomes the blues until the blues becomes your life,
And you sing them in the dark and they cut just like a knife.
So you sing about the city and the hardship and the torment,
And you forget about the magic, of one fleeting moment…
When someone comes along, but you can’t recall the name,
And you can’t recall the time, but you know them… just the same.
When the violins play low and the melody runs deep,
There’s no place left to go… and nothing left to keep,
And the writing on the wall, is all they’ll ever know,
When you hear the distant call… of a violin, so low.