Plays the piano oh so gracefully, but there was always going to be those left a little less than impressed
Mainly Westerners, something or other about the overly flamboyant way he likes to dress
People simply looking to stir up a storm in a teacup, what’s not normal just doesn’t sit too well with them
Believing he to be only ever trying to lure the world’s media, vying to place the name Lang Lang on everyone’s lips, every which way that he can, managing to even end up on “goddamn Wikipedia!!”
He doesn’t care, keeps on playing, letting those precious keys do the talking for him
Getting by on a whim, not at all, this a piano prodigy absolutely prepared to fall, pick himself right back up having learnt just as much from his father, a man who drilled music into him
Rather abruptly interrupting for quite a while his only son’s childhood
Why he now always sits, smirks and smiles, making up for a time far less sublime, missed
This is it, undoubtedly his arena, where he has always been destined to play, shine in a way that no other pianist has done before