Curtains may fall
And people may go
But the ghost light’s
All I know

People may shout
And prance around the stage
But the ghost light
Will never age

See them laugh
see them cry
And get more for the encore
When next they arrive

See them live
See them die
And get scored for the next chord
When next they survive

I watch over their theatre with pride
But don't think for a minute that I’m on their side

Why do they call me a ghost?
When I am surely alive
Don't tell me I'm wrong
Surely I survive

When singers are done with their long songs
When dancers will find no more dances, they're wrong
And I will stand here in the dark all alone
In this theatre, I call my home

So I find I'm more than this
More than your people have taught me to be
If you fear a shadow behind you
That of course
Is me

I argue with you inside my head
Angered by words you've never said.

I write our scripts to my design
Then am vexed when you botch your lines.

I miss my theater
I miss the lights
I'm finding I even miss
The many sleepless nights

Cause now I lie awake
My head so filled with song
I'm finding that without you
The world just feels so wrong

I miss the chaos
I miss my crew
I miss every little thing
That I used to do

I cannot reschedule
The last curtain call
I cannot imagine
A year without you all

I'm crying, I'm trying
The tears, they never fall
I cannot imagine
A year without you all

"Ladies and Gentlemen... Here comes the..."
.
.
The artist walks towards the stage as he hears the cue,
.
.
"Costume, check.
Makeup, check.
Smile, check.
Confidence, check"
He ticks all his mind checklist for one last time
as he walks towards the spotlight
just like those fireflies attracted to lights.
Getting out of the backstage
leaving behind all his doubts and worries,
His courage steps on to his own canvas
to create his own masterpiece.

Amidst the dramatic lights and
music that stirs emotions,
Given all the audience's attention
Feels like he is the center of gravity
attracting all the curious eyes.

Holding in a dynamic mix of
excitement, nervousness and boundless happiness
He bursts out his hardwork and professionalism.
.
.
.
.
.
"Thank you"
With the ending note
all he remembers is the applause
and the audience reactions
that mirrored exactly what he imagined
while creating the masterpiece,
and his performance remains
like a lucid dream in his memory.

As he walks down the stage
anybody could see the satisfaction
he proudly carried over his shoulders.

You're always in a state of shock
Looking up to a clock
Waiting for bad luck
Patience for your thunderstruck
For that, they called you a moonstruck

The clock starts ticking,
and people keep clicking,
Mining for a nitpicking
Till you start panicking

What would you do if they start picking?

I know you very well
From that single ring of the doorbell
It would be a shame if you said farewell
Cause you don't figure to show and tell

Fear not, you should not be in-shock
Once the clock starts ticking, it will be all good luck
You are meant to be a rainbow, not a moon-struck
A hidden gemstone with a sun-struck
Patience for your thunder-struck

Time will tell, that you have served them well
Now this is a story for your glory
Next to a foundation that will exceed their expectations
The shot that you will never throw like a cloth.
Till the streets are now excitin', especially when you're fightin'
Don't get so sorrow, for there will be another tomorrow.

All is well to say, the road is rough
But I know you're tough.
You're not glass but you're holding a glass
Till you rule a class, to ignore those sass
Till you hold your mass
To a voyage till you forget the dark past.

Life could be beautiful as Veronica said
Three colors did change you
Till you became blue
But you never failed to escape from being suppressed to the blue

As your companion at night
I am amazed by your might
Of singing every octave in the night
You always have the choice to never leave your voice.
Now as I end these words with "A music of the night", should be the title of this voice.

I wished for sympathy from the crowd in some sense
A soliloquy would reveal my morbid intent
Then tear burned lenses would hold a reflection
Curving their contempt towards my affection

I sought after sympathy from the crowd in some way
That a minor character might die in my play
A supporting actress would cry her last chorus
And I readied to draw tears for the both of us

I coveted sympathy from the crowd in some fashion
But she dropped to the floor before assumed "action!"
Curtains now drawing, how should I act?
The audience sees clearly, dry eyes still intact

I demand sympathy from the crowd at last
Disbelief's broadcast came grouped in a gasp
"This is not the tragedy, her character did not die!
Only the mask that wears her, please stand by"