Guignol

The musty lights corrupt the stage Twisting the form of the heavy curtains Framed by the stolen shadows of cherubs A delicate music box whispers into the guilded room A faint perfume of smoldering limes bitter the air This night could be Prague, Vienna... Then I conquer the stage, arise and fulfill the lights Only to again to have my dignity murdered infront of me Adressing a hollow room The only half-sound, glowering laughter in my mind The meadow of poppy-red seats stare through the dark The lights sharpen from their soft glow And regroup as piercing arrows Stripping me down Back to my soul I questioned why the others left (and they question why I stay) Neither are sure if it's through choice, or truth Living in this dead theatre