the balled of the maestro

He played a different kind of melody/A tune so melodic/He conducted such an orchestra with millions of instruments/the percussionist amazed while the violinist played, the string instruments were being strummed away/vividly he saw the melody that he would bring to life/He conducted with such passion, because It represented his life/two kids and a wife that were removed from his life, courtesy of a drunk driver on that fateful night/He stood in front of the crowd with his back turned to them, and got in tune with the orchestra that represented him/He held the baton tight that he would use this night, that he would swing rhythmically when the time was right/The orchestra tuned their instruments and he made sure he was ready/raised his arms stern and steady/ He had the world on the ready/At that moment he would strike, they cut on the house light, and the police rushed the stage with news that would enslave the melodies that would rage from the baton that he waved on stage/He didn't cry or flinch, He was dazed/The orchestra would never play/No one ever got to hear what was ringing in his ear/ The maestro disappeared/The melodies still play in his head, But less melodic/He conducts an orchestra of just one/He stood in front of the grave of his family/the baton in one hand, and a loaded gun hung from the other/He raised the gun to his head, and silenced the melodies, and only god heard the balled of the maestro, damn.