We were all his tears.
A young man of about 20, fairly thin with black hair is hard at work. Every waking moment of his life, he is entrenched in his creation; a large platform of some sort, which plays music. He has spent years and years gathering sounds from all walks of life: The closing of a trash can, the song of a medowlark, any sound he came across he would collect.
Finally late one night he had finished his work. He stood upon his platform, and simply swayed back and forth, overjoyed with happiness. The box responded to his joy and played wonderful music. After some time of enjoying himself, he stepped down, sat in his chair and marveled at his creation. He realized at that moment, that his platform was his life. He had no friends, no steady job; he alienated himself from his family.
Shortly thereafter, he killed himself; but I don't recall how exactly. All I remember after that was a song that I've never heard before, but was one of the best songs I've heard. It played as I looked at his dead body. All I know is these two lines that played over and over, maybe the chorus:
"He lit a candle with his heart,
and we were all his tears."
Finally late one night he had finished his work. He stood upon his platform, and simply swayed back and forth, overjoyed with happiness. The box responded to his joy and played wonderful music. After some time of enjoying himself, he stepped down, sat in his chair and marveled at his creation. He realized at that moment, that his platform was his life. He had no friends, no steady job; he alienated himself from his family.
Shortly thereafter, he killed himself; but I don't recall how exactly. All I remember after that was a song that I've never heard before, but was one of the best songs I've heard. It played as I looked at his dead body. All I know is these two lines that played over and over, maybe the chorus:
"He lit a candle with his heart,
and we were all his tears."