Black script tattoo reading 'May your song always be sung' across the side of a bare back, against a dark red warm-toned room.

Script quote on a bare back

Lettering · Back · Black and grey · Photo

A person seen from behind with their hair falling over one shoulder, showing a handwritten script tattoo on the side of the back. The three lines of text read 'May your song always be sung' and are set in fine, even linework with no shading. The ink is dark and the background is warm red with blurred string lights on the right.

Lettering Back Quote Script Text

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A story inspired by this tattoo · fiction

The piano in the waiting room at Skelder Junction had been out of tune since the spring flood, but nobody had told the platform. Every Thursday Edie Marr came off the 4.10 with her cello case knocking at her knee, and every Thursday the ticket inspector, Mr Ogden, pretended not to hear her play the same four bars before the Leeds train pulled in. He never asked her to stop. He only tapped his watch and grinned.

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Old Tom Briggs ran the newspaper kiosk by the footbridge and hummed along from his stool whenever she played. The week the shutter jammed, the kiosk stood dark and the tabloids sat in their bundles, and Tom was gone to the infirmary with his hip. Edie found the note tucked behind the cash tin when she went to fetch change for the vending machine. It was a scrap of till roll in pencil, the letters leaning hard to the right: May your song always be sung. Under it, smaller, he had written the first line of a tune she half knew.

She sat at the piano that evening and played it wrong, slow and cracked, with the lid propped up on a rolled timetable. A man in a wet anorak came in from the rain with a rucksack the size of a sheep and sang the second line in a voice like gravel in a bucket. Then a woman with a toddler on her hip joined in on the third, and a boy with a skateboard hummed the bridge. Nobody knew the words. They sang anyway, all the way through to the last train.

When the platform emptied, Mr Ogden came and stood beside her with the keys in his hand. He did not switch off the lights. He pulled the shutter of Tom's kiosk up as far as it would go, let the cold in, and left it open for whoever came next.