Lyric

There's a grand piano in a cafe at night, Behind it sits a gray-haired old man

Eyes closed, as if he's asleep, In the glass the light of a star trembles

The old man is awake

He sees the distance

Go silently eastward

The east is far away

The east is cruel

But the hour will come, the time will come, He'll lift the lid and behold

♪ He can't hear the flat, he can't see the baccarat ♪