Play Mozart In Memory Of Me -

My Manuscripts Sleep, While I Cannot, For I Am Covered With Poultices.

Oh, How Hard It Must Be To Die Anywhere But In Ones Birthplace.

My Piano Has Not Yet Arrived. How Did You Send It? By Marseilles Or By Perpignan? I Dream Music But I Cannot Make Any Because Here There Are Not Any Pianos . . . In This Respect This Is A Savage Country.

It Is Dreadful When Something Weighs On Your Mind, Not To Have A Soul To Unburden Yourself To. You Know What I Mean. I Tell My Piano The Things I Used To Tell You.

The Earth Is Suffocating... Swear To Make Them Cut Me Open, So That I Won't Be Buried Alive.