Every night, the moon hangs high. He can play the flute, which is an instrument called a flute. Western.
The golden flute glowed with a faint white light. Just like him, beautiful and melancholy...
His music is nameless and rhythmless. It's the nicest song I've ever heard, and also the saddest.
His hands are beautiful. The joints are long and slender, rising and falling with the melody.