The Opera Ghost
I've walked this world long enough
to at last doubt the hope
of ever revealing my face
from behind mirrors and smoke.
A spirit made for song
and safe in darkness,
to the theater's shadows,
into the cellar I'll descend.
Let them wonder
what befell that man named Erik.
They will call him a monster;
let that be their choice.
They will know their mistake.
The divine echoes in his voice.
Erik's secrets are no one's but his own.
I will give them the Ghost,
the lonely Opera Ghost.
Skin stretched tight over bones
with no nose to show,
yellow eyes in deep sockets,
hair black as the raven of Poe.
Holy hands made this countenance
shaped for my heart.
To others, this sculpture is not God's,
but a sinister sight instead.
I will tell you what they see in Erik!
They will call him a monster,
a wicked disgrace.
They will know their mistake.
The divine reflects in his face.
Erik's secrets are no one's but his own.
I will give them the Ghost,
the pitiful Opera Ghost.
"Ease your heart into peace.
Weep no more for your dear father's death.
I am the helper that he promised,
and to you, I come down from Heaven.
Have faith in my voice, Christine.
Follow it until the end!"
She sings as her Angel teaches
and my soul takes flight.
She is the sunray breaking
through my world of night.
Yet they wonder,
does this Christine sing from the dark?
Red Death stalks the opera.
Does the Ghost play a part?
Does Erik applaud his beloved with blood on his hands?
They have called him a monster,
a wicked disgrace.
They will know their mistake.
The divine reflects in his face.
Erik's secrets are no one's but his own.
I gave them the pitiful Opera Ghost.
They have called him a monster;
let that be their choice.
They will know their mistake.
The divine echoes in his voice.
Erik's secrets are no one's but his own.
I gave them the lonely Opera Ghost.
They have called him a monster.
They've seen that the most.
Yes, they know the dark horror of the Opera Ghost.
Take from me your mask that doesn't fit
and I will give you Erik.
My name is Erik.