|
Now the final curtain's fallen, for no show goes on forever, if the world's a stage - mine's empty. whilst upon it you'll tread never. |
|
As the instruments lie silent in their coffins made of wood, i rest assured they'd say these words - |
|
If say these words they could; |
|
Whatever happened to the songs - the music that we made, and the joy we shared together as on me your fingers played? |
|
Are chose symphonies forgotten - with our cases closed and latched'? |
|
Dreams now dusty, old and rotten - empty shells (no strings attached). |
|
Amidst the dying candle-light, |
|
I sit forlorn, alone, a space once filled with laughter bright, the place my heart called home |
|
Now the puppets are my company - but wood and straw can't speak; though it by chance they came to life |
|
I'm certain they would weep;" " |
|
What am I without your tender touch - the hands to hold and guide me, what purpose has a puppet with no puppeteer beside me? |
|
I do not care |
|
I have no hair - my painted face is scratched. but fear my wooden heart will shatter with no stings attached. [CHORUS:] |
|
No mourners assemble in this white-elephant's graveyard, a dearth of bloom upon my tomb - an absence of forget-me-nots. |
|
For Romeo |
|
I understudied - this sepulchre dark and bloodied, |
|
It's my final resting place - amongst these "cloak-and-dagger' props. Your kiss turns princes into frogs - and passion-plays to monologues. Now last and least- the minstrel-takes his bow upon the stage, he's played a fool and played the prince - (but never acts his age). And If for once not lost for words- l wonder what he d say, to win fair maiden, slay the dragon, keep dread foe at bay? " |
|
Though I am not a wealthy man - my heart is pure and true, and the only riches that |
|
I have - the love |
|
I feel for you. |
|
Now my life is robbed of meaning |
|
Iike a purse of hope that's snatched. |
|
Must I spend my whole time dreaming - living life no strings attached?" [CHORUS:] No mourners assemble in this white-elephant's graveyard, a dearth of bloom upon my tomb - an absence of forget-me-nots. For Romeo I understudied - this sepulchre dark and bloodied, It's my final resting place - amongst these "cloak-and-dagger' props. |
|
Your kiss turns princes into frogs - and passion-plays to monologues. |