Every now and then he fishes through the dirt piles
He's the local street bum,
From which everyone witholds their smiles
He gave no concern to the judgments that other people made
And walked right inside the junkyard, unafraid
Closer and closer he gets, to the spot where I reside
One object after the next, he tosses aside
And I cannot lie, I'm hoping that he'll pick me up
But I'm almost certain that I'll be denied
Closer and closer he gets and to my surprise
He stops all the digging and fixes his eyes
On me
He pulled me up and wiped off the dust
But then he saw the crack in my side
And I thought he would put me right back
No, into his cart and close to his heart
He treasured me, as he pushed me through the junkyard gates
Who is this man that he can see, value in me
Who is this man that he can hear, the plight that I plead
Yes, we went through town, away from the junkyard
Where I was found
We passed the place where I broke down
We going somewhere that's safe and sound
And to my surprise, we came right to the biggest
Mansion around
This man is not a street bum, what he wears, is a disguise
He took me inside and fixed me up with new parts and supplies
Oh this man, must be the maker for which I've cried
Who else would believe in me?
A broken instrument, that died
I've never known music to be so fine
The way he plays me is so divine
The whole world hears us together and starts to cry
So let my sound forever be, a testament of
How the maker can restore value to the life of a broken instrument