Fantome's Lament

staring blankly at nothingness
yet surveying everything
you could never understand
what music means to me
you, who are happy
you, who have life
you, whose eyes are brimming with youth
you, who have no strife
as compared to i, who have sorrows
i, who have dark
i, whose eyes are filled with bitterness
i, who's covered in marks
from the viciousness of society
which can only seem to lie
they took away my happiness
and i now want to die
i can only watch from afar
at the laughter you enjoy
while i am left to bitterness
that shadows on your joy
you never noticed me
no, i was in the night
i could only watch with burning eyes
as you danced in the light
malevolence is all i am
the shadow-creature, though mortal
i wish that i could be like you
with you
but know that i can't
for darkness is my shroud
cloaked and masked
against the world
to hide at last
from the desperations and ravages
the light offers me
as if i were no part of
their beloved humanity
because of who i am
Because of who I am!
i am a phantom
spectral
nothing more
i am the shadow in the night
that comes knocking at your door
then flees
because i am spectral
a phantom
phantasm
ghost
i exist no more than your nightmares
because that's what i am
Because that's what you've made me!
the ravages of humankind
cut more deeply
than the reflection of my death's head
mocking me
and you can't understand
because you are human
and i am not
i am Fantome
Geist
Spirit
and nothing more
the fading whispers of nightmares
as the dawning sun drives away fear
my composition is that,
i fear
and so do you
if you didn't have society
maybe i could have my happiness
the only thing other than my music
the only thing that will last
beyond me
is my soul
which is in my music
all that i own
besides my happiness . . .
That happiness I could not have!
oh, specter vanishing in the night!
oh, ghost who suddenly takes his flight!
the masked and cloaked phantom
that is no more real to you
than a real shade,
such am I!
i, who am phantom,
i, who am ghost,
i, the specter
who cannot have what he most
desires
watching the golden fires
of my own eyes reflecting
the living carcas that is me
you can never understand my bitterness,
mon Ange,
because you have your light
in which to play
i,
mon ange,
can only watch
as you fade away
from these twisted, tormented,
ravaged,
tortured, painful
tatters of a phantom . . .
Je suis Fantome, mon Ange de la Musique, and nothing more.