If you come to a place where you believe
Greatness can never be achieved
Don’t quit at all on account of that
Which eyes, exactly, are you trying to please?
If your talents are shining most often in secret
On the concert hall floor, you feel like a cricket
Keep playing the music wherever you are,
Which ears, my child, did you want to hear it?
If you work your hands right to the bone
But no one sets up a commemorative stone
Don’t throw down your tools and walk away
Which mouth did you want to hear say “Well done”?