Strings

Hunched over his guitar, blind and haggard, he's familiar with his strings, 6 companions each with a story of their own about the blue period.

An old man lost in silent contemplation, without direction or reason, he has nowhere to go, stuck on the streets of Barcelona he fades into the grey.

Melancholy fills the air around him.
Thoughts of how the world took everything from him, he tussles with ideas of suicide, but he's blinded by the darkness that has always been in his eyes.

Poverty burdens him with life, breathing is an expense to his soul,
O what poverty that strips a man of everything that he has, from his dear mother to the very hairs on his head.

Holding on tight to his brown guitar, its acoustics bring the only colour he has in life, the colour of music, not too bright but its enough to remind him of love, the love he once had.

His solitary love of music has left him lonely in the streets of Barcelona, it has left him isolated from the world and at the brink of death.

His old age exclaims of pain, sorrow and tragedy, and day by day he drifts further into death.