He presents what you see
with impeccable finesse.
He hides everything else behind the curtains.
Heavily veiled by his smiles...
Cleverly masked behind his script.

He stands elevated, taking his stage.
From his vantage he sees all.
He allows his facade to bask in the light...
Whilst keeping his back in the shadow.

He's renowned.
By the light that kills the dark.
He's addicted to the nightly ovations,
cascading cheers and gleaming reviews.

But every show has an end.
Come every dawn, he wakes to the reality
that tolls at his door.
He's owned and he knows it...
Too well,
by the stage he built
and the drama he wrote and casted.

Sometimes I sit in my room
On my bed
And I cry.
I cry for the longing,
For the wanting,
For the need to be on stage.

I want to do so many things.
I want to perform,
I want to be able to belt those notes,
I want to show the world what I have,
I want to march up to everyone that told me I couldn’t and say
“I did it.”

I want to prove them all wrong,
I want to surprise everyone.
They’ll say,
“How did this random southern lady get here?”
And then they’ll hear me sing,
They’ll watch me act,
They’ll see me dance,
And then they’ll say,
“This is where this random southern lady belongs,
On stage with the best of the best.”

I will get there, on that stage.
But until then,
I will keep wanting,
And longing.
I will cry
As I sit on my bed,
In my room.

How the body

of the dancer

Moves with

Grace
and
Elegance

Eyes with make-up, closed while performing.
The only audience to the dancer are
One's heart and one's soul.

Fire rising in my cheeks
Fanned by insignificance
The work I do is never known
Since I'm not on stage to dance.

Don’t bring me those bouquets
Don’t clap me off the stage
Because my tour is not yet done
Some parts are just begun.
That would just be so wrong.
I haven’t sung my last song.
You must never forget,
I’m not quite done yet.

I need no one to carry me
It’s not time to bury me
In celebratory flowers
I’ve still got a few hours
Left for me in the spotlight
Tonight is not my last night.
Thought I’ve had my regrets
I’m not really done yet.

There are so many songs inside me
And melodies that will guide me
They want to come out whole
From deep inside my soul
But one thing I am certain
Don’t bring down that final curtain.
I’ve got more numbers to do
And I worked them up just for you.

As long as the crowd is willing
As long as I’m still killing
As you can still hear the applause
There is plenty of righteous cause
To keep the orchestra playing.
That’s all that I am saying.
I promise you won’t regret
That I am not quite done yet.
I’m not quite done yet.

Your memories were numbed by the new situation
You swear you saw a kindly face, not unlike your own
That picture blinded by the lights, the fanfare plays
Enter the gladiators
Where was that hidden genesis chapter?
You were the amusement for Adam
Moulded from the image of the clown
Dance boy dance, sing for your supper
Fulfil your role, ****** upon your damaged soul
You swear you recall being wrapped up warm
Arms engulf your childlike frame, where have they gone?
Now dropped before the flashing lights...
Camera... Action!
You're a caricature of the "superiors"
Aping the actions so beyond the dumb jester
Smile on cue when they glare at you
Electricity jolts your arms in motion
Smoke the cigarette, spill your drink
We laugh at you, we want to touch you
So cute, so funny, so real
What are you? Bust just a clown
Created from god's sick humour, man's new toy
Spend your childhood dancing till the lights go down
From the limelight to the concrete
From stage and screen and the attention it brings
To the wasteland of iron, rust and rot
Too old to melt our fickle hearts
Adam's bled you of your use, he's had his fill
Reassured that he still holds dominion