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Look at me, dear,
not at my skin, it is too old.
Not the colors, they are too dull.
No need to touch, cause I haven't sung for long,
those preludes, etudes, mazurkas and nocturnes were my old songs...
He's long gone, my old master.
I still feel his delicate fingers.
He's long gone, and I am still standing here.
Now look at me, dear, and tell me what do you hear...
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