He was very glum, he was very mellow-
He had spent all evening playing the cello.
The hall was airy and open and wide.
But all desire is his heart had died.
He sat in his chair and attempted to breathe,
When he really sincerely just wanted to leave.

He was very glum, he was very mellow-
He had spent all evening playing the cello.
His fingers were moving quite free of his thought,
He felt very stiff in the new shoes he’d bought.
The moon rose higher, the night grew long;
Nothing had ever quite felt so wrong.

He was very glum, he was very mellow-
He had spent all evening playing the cello.
He bid farewell to the other musicians,
The ones with the talent and dreams and ambitions.
Merrily they called, “Good night, my good fellow!”
And he walked out with sadness and heartache and cello.