My fingers went running through difficult chords,

New passages, voices, and trills.

But who knew you have to befriend the author,

To succeed in the flow of artists?

Beethoven got deaf and that’s what he wrote,

And did it affect his sonatas?

But why would I care? Would it change anything

In my precious image of flutter?

I cover my ears with biographies his,

And play the last piece on my feelings

«No, Ludwig did not mean convey it like this»

The teacher says, hurting my feelings.

My hand throws away the sequels of his

Distressed and intense compositions;

I cry my eyes out, forgetting that tears

Is a key to losing my winnings.