When I am old,

I will live in a remote forest, if there still be any

Away from the chaos of this world, I will listen

To the sound of music, if there aren’t any

I will be the one playing

 

My violin will sing in the snow

I will dance to its ring

Not caring the least about my clumsy movements

And the sound of my joints cracking

 

Because there will be pleasure

In the delicate melody of music

With its power stronger than the wind

It ignites a fire in me

 

In the darkest of days

This fire is what keeps me warm

Not the firewood burning

 

I will get old, and when I do get old

I will smile at my dream unfulfilled

With a book in my hands

And noises invading my ears

 

I will be old but always young at heart,

I will be me

Though old and dying

 

When the world collapses

There would still be music

I would still be playing

Even if I am the last one standing

 

But when I die, it shouldn’t die with me