He was their piano man…
Musician through and through.
Living in a foreign land,
And working for 'Toulouse.'
He slaved for his passion,
Which was all else above…
The Bohemian ideal of
Freedom, beauty, truth and love.
It was their instrument,
The Moulin Rouge.
And with their assistance,
Their Knight could not lose.
Pearly keys danced
Under his touch.
He possessed talent
But nothing else much.
His life wasn't long,
Yet he wasn't alone.
A heart full of song,
Kneeling down at the throne.
It was their instrument,
The Moulin Rouge.
And with their assistance,
Their Knight could not lose.
The Knight as their savior,
To write their show.
And the Queen was their martyr,
How low she would go…
The minstrel toiled,
And pulled music from his soul.
The King told his lies,
So the Duke would not know.
It was their instrument,
The Moulin Rouge.
And with their assistance,
Their Knight could not lose.
But in the end,
The Queen did fall…
She missed the final curtain call.
The Duke and the King,
Both felt great gloom.
But her lover wept most;
As Knight fell in the room…
Over her body,
It was worn and ill.
All were silent,
The lot of them still.
It was their instrument,
The Moulin Rouge.
And with their assistance,
Their Knight could not lose.
But he did, the knight,
He fell with the Queen.
And nothing, not one thing,
Was quite as it seemed…
For they'd vowed to be together,
To be in love forever.
The Knight had learned far more,
Than he ever guessed had been in store.
And the piano man looked down from above,
Into the Knight, holding his shattered love.
It was their instrument,
The Moulin Rouge.
And with their assistance,
Their Knight could not lose.
Their wish was granted,
Their dream had come true.
And the revolution
Had been seen through.
Much heartache and grief,
They had had quite enough…
Of the undying faith in
Freedom, beauty, truth and love…
-
-
-
Note from the Author: Hello, Bec here. I realize the real Satie didn't live in a 'foreign land', as he was actually French, and he most certainly did not work under (and probably not even with) Toulouse-Lautrec, but in the movie, both of these details hold true, therefore, I'm right in using them. Whew. Had to get that off my chest. Carry on!
Musician through and through.
Living in a foreign land,
And working for 'Toulouse.'
He slaved for his passion,
Which was all else above…
The Bohemian ideal of
Freedom, beauty, truth and love.
It was their instrument,
The Moulin Rouge.
And with their assistance,
Their Knight could not lose.
Pearly keys danced
Under his touch.
He possessed talent
But nothing else much.
His life wasn't long,
Yet he wasn't alone.
A heart full of song,
Kneeling down at the throne.
It was their instrument,
The Moulin Rouge.
And with their assistance,
Their Knight could not lose.
The Knight as their savior,
To write their show.
And the Queen was their martyr,
How low she would go…
The minstrel toiled,
And pulled music from his soul.
The King told his lies,
So the Duke would not know.
It was their instrument,
The Moulin Rouge.
And with their assistance,
Their Knight could not lose.
But in the end,
The Queen did fall…
She missed the final curtain call.
The Duke and the King,
Both felt great gloom.
But her lover wept most;
As Knight fell in the room…
Over her body,
It was worn and ill.
All were silent,
The lot of them still.
It was their instrument,
The Moulin Rouge.
And with their assistance,
Their Knight could not lose.
But he did, the knight,
He fell with the Queen.
And nothing, not one thing,
Was quite as it seemed…
For they'd vowed to be together,
To be in love forever.
The Knight had learned far more,
Than he ever guessed had been in store.
And the piano man looked down from above,
Into the Knight, holding his shattered love.
It was their instrument,
The Moulin Rouge.
And with their assistance,
Their Knight could not lose.
Their wish was granted,
Their dream had come true.
And the revolution
Had been seen through.
Much heartache and grief,
They had had quite enough…
Of the undying faith in
Freedom, beauty, truth and love…
-
-
-
Note from the Author: Hello, Bec here. I realize the real Satie didn't live in a 'foreign land', as he was actually French, and he most certainly did not work under (and probably not even with) Toulouse-Lautrec, but in the movie, both of these details hold true, therefore, I'm right in using them. Whew. Had to get that off my chest. Carry on!