Paris Opera House by Benjamin Miller c/o http://www.freestockphotos.biz

 

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.