The old man downstairs practices his voice every morning at five o'clock, bothering me for three years.

Today, I finally couldn't take it anymore and rushed down to scold him.
He looked at me and suddenly cried, "My son used to live in that room, but he passed away after a car accident.
He loved listening to me sing, and I just want him to know that Dad is still here."
I softened and said, "Grandpa, go ahead and sing. I'll listen."