(Inspired by events written in Susan Kay’s novel Phantom)
The blossoms, so tenderly cared for,
lay in strangers’ hands.
The most handsome were taken away
by scavenging neighbors.
The others were left to wilt and perish.
How the buds flourished
under the care of a somber man,
a man simply trying to forget a boy-
a boy who’d blossomed under another man-
an uncompromising man.
A rigid man with little conception
of how to raise a boy to know a father,
but a man with many sectarian convictions.
And with much knowledge of
torturing a flowering man-
A sorrowful man who’d spent his days
tending the garden.
How he cherished the blooms.
And though their radiance was grand,
they were hardly enough to replace a son.
Deep in my dungeon,
Down in my hole,
Past the lake is my home.
That’s where my genius is conceived.
I sit, and I write.
Day in and day out.
I compose my genius all by myself.
I have not a friend,
Not a confidante.
No one has the courage to brave the passage to my home.
Not man nor woman has the heart to brave my face.
I have one companion only.
It is my music.
Yes, it gets lonely.
Of course, I get sad.
I am still human, still compassionate.
How I’d adore walking into the opera as a man,
Not a monster.
I would give it all
To be a normal man.
I have my music,
My songs, my notes.
I create joy in those out there.
I create fear.
I create longing. I create passion.
For the thousands who hear my tunes.
There’s no need for others in my crypt,
My living grave.
There was once one, so splendid,
So brave. But she left for royalty,
That nasty vicomte.
A boy in his prime,
Ripe for his age.
So I play to you people
That know me not.
You hear my stories.
You sing my words.
You hum my melodies.
All of you love me
Deep down inside.
Without me you’d be lost,
Well, bored at least!
Without my entertainment
Where would you be?
So here’s love and affection
From the loyal O.G.