| <Blitzkrieg> page <Theatre Of The Damned> album page |
The PhantomHis greatest work, his Opera, his heart and soul,Was stolen by, the one he thought, would cast the role, Insane with hate and anger, burned the Print-Shop to the ground, Badly burned, he fled to safety, hidden deep below the ground. Searching for The Phantom, Ghost-like in the hall, Waiting for The Phantom, to arrive at the curtain call. His music played, that haunting sound, had reached his ears, Angelic voice, she sang his words, so he drew near, He watched her as she faltered, he vowed he'd put that right, The Phantom of the Opera, filled them all with dread that night. Searching for The Phantom, Ghost-like in the hall, Waiting for The Phantom, to arrive at the curtain call. He made her sing, without a rest, in fear and Hell, Until she sang so perfectly, he'd taught her well, He watched her whole performance, full of pride he turned to go, He slipped and fell in silence, down to the stage below. Lifeless, lies The Phantom, Lying there, after the fall, Gazing at The Phantom, A broken man, not a ghost at all. |