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.
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 sepulcher 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
Take a purse of hope that's snatched.
Must I spend my whole time dreaming –
Living life no strings attached?
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 sepulcher 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.