The Piano (Notebook Version) Analysis

Somewhere beneath that piano's superb sleek black

Must hide my mother's piano, little and brown with the back

That stood close to the wall, and the front's faded silk, both torn

And the keys with little hollows, that my mother's fingers had worn.

Softly, in the shadows, a woman is singing to me

Quietly, through the years I have crept back to see

A child sitting under the piano, in the boom of the shaking strings

Pressing the little poised feet of the mother who smiles as she singsThe full throated woman has chosen a winning, living song

And surely the heart that is in me must belong

To the old Sunday evenings, when darkness wandered outside

And hymns gleamed on our warm lips, as we watched mother's fingers glideOr this is my sister at home in the old front room

Singing love's first surprised gladness, alone in the gloom.

She will start when she sees me, and blushing, spread out her hands

To cover my mouth's raillery, till I'm bound in her shame's heart-spun bandsA woman is singing me a wild Hungarian air

And her arms, and her bosom and the whole of her soul is bare

And the great black piano is clamouring as my mother's never could clamour

And the tunes of the past are devoured of this music's ravaging glamour.

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