Where has the artist gone whose hands danced upon my ivory keys?
So many times I wonder what good he sees
Outside these walls and the safety here
Of people who love him and consider him dear
Why is it better, out on his own
Where troubles and struggles and darkness roam?
One girl in the congregation stands in the front row
As the crowd sings, she looks at me, and asks,
"Why did he go?"
She cries sometimes and wonders why
He would ever leave his church for a lie.
Why would he trade the affection of
This family for nothing but shallow love?
Where has the artist gone?
Will he ever return
T o once again bring music and to learn
That God is faithful, and truth He does show
But until then, the worship will be short one piano.