Look at me, dear,

not at my skin, it is too old.

Not the colors, they are too dull.

No need to touch, cause I haven't sung for long,

those preludes, etudes, mazurkas and nocturnes were my old songs... 
 

He's long gone, my old master.

I still feel his delicate fingers.

He's long gone, and I am still standing here.

Now look at me, dear, and tell me what do you hear...