As the tower bell rings,
and to the violinist's tune we sing,
Van Brandt climbs the tower and sits on the ridge,
Of this tower which stands on the edge of Charles Bridge.
He watches as hundreds of people cross the river,
to this side and that, without a quiver.
Why this bridge and not any other?
It is afterall not a lover.
Few men chose and others followed,
Seems like most of us are afterall that hollow.
But then Van Brandt smiled because he realised,
Something that perhaps wasn't a surprise.
That he too like the hundreds of other men and women,
Will also have to cross the bridge in the end.
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