Disclaimer: I do not own anything pertaining to Newsies, all of it beings
to Disney.
Note from Author: More fun with Spot suicide/angst.(I was quite bored at a family get together.)
ANNABEL LEE
You were beautiful. Absolutely beautiful. Do you know that? Can you remember how beautiful you were? You held my heart in the palm of your delicate, creamy hand and each time I witnessed you it was as though you were slowly, excruciatingly, and wonderfully crushing it within your sensational grasp.
The same slender hand that you figuratively held my heart in, I physically held with my hand. Oh, Annabel Lee, do you remember when I used to hold your hand? I loved to hold your hand. Your creamy, fragile hand felt so wonderful in my hand that had been turned roughed and calloused over the years on the streets. It felt like some kind of exquisite satin whenever I placed my hand in yours.
Don't remember the time we held hands at all the drunken poker parties that Jack hosted. Then, then when I was around them, around my friends, I had to put on a show of airs. My utterly stupid pride blinded me so that I treated you like a gaudy whore rather than the love of my life that you were. They only knew me as Spot Conlon, Fearless Leader of Brooklyn; Spot 'Bed 'em, Don't Wed 'em' Conlon.
Oh, how I would fall before your grave on my knees and repent my immortal soul for all the pain and suffering I must have inflicted upon you. You must think that I cared only for my notorious reputation and never for you. But you have got it all wrong. I loved you, Annabel Lee. I love you Annabel Lee.
I feel the hot tears prick my eyes and my words are becoming difficult to form. I must try to compose myself. Spot Conlon does not cry.
Do not remember the times we spent holding hands at those damned poker parties. What I would not give to have the burning image of I with that damned smirk upon my lips, my chest puffed, my eyes glinting with my new conquest with you holding my hand and following me quietly eradicated from my psyche; alas, I feel as though it is emblazoned into my mind for all eternity as an everlasting reminder of all the pain I caused you.
Oh, Annabel Lee, why did you have to leave me so soon? You were so beautiful, so absolutely beautiful, and you took my heart with you. Now I fear-now I know that I shall never be whole again.
Nay, do not think of us holding hands at those wild, alcohol-infested poker parties. Remember the first time that we met as I was selling my papes on that breathless, sweltering morning in August. I had wanted to fuck you and you had wanted to hold my hand.
Damn you, Annabel Lee! You had wanted to hold my hand and nothing more. The hot tears are beginning to stream freely now down my face and are landing on the high, weedy grass before your tomb stone. You, sweet innocent Annabel Lee, had only wanted to hold my hand. I had held my breath, you had given me that quiet smile of yours, and then you just as quietly slipped your hand into mine.
I had thought the gesture silly and petty, but then your utterly glorious hand brushed against mine and I felt the rest of my life in your hold. You squeezed tighter and I felt weak and I knew that my soul would be everlastingly indentured to you for all of eternity.
I swore that day, Annabel Lee, and even after your death I still have not broken my silent promise. I know that I never shall.
Remember the times, my dearest Annabel Lee, that we held hands as we used to sit on the docks behind the lodging house and watch the colored-smeared sky as the bloody sun would dip behind the horizon. I remember that you had been transfixed by the sunset and I had been utterly transfixed by you. I would hold your satin-hand and then the utterly uncontrollable urge that had been building inside me would roar to life and make me double over it hurt so much. I loved you so much, Annabel Lee, but I knew you weren't like them. I knew you weren't like all of those sultry harlots who would take a quick fuck in a darkened alley in the early mornings just to earn a few measly coins.
I knew you were different and I loved you so much that my heart would swell and leap into my mouth. You turned to me and asked me how I liked the sunset and I could not speak in fear that my heart would fall out of my mouth and onto your lap. But you had only smiled that quiet smile and squeezed my hand and brought you're heavenly lips against mine.
And then we made love on the docks. I remember for the violent sun ushered forth a cool, dark night with cold stars glittering indifferently above while I took you.
The sobs are so intense, so utterly overpowering now that I've fallen to my knees above your grave and am gripping your tombstone with my splayed fingers, my crown against the cold gray stone that bears your flawless name. But now you are gone, my Annabel Lee, now you are gone. They said that your death was quick and painless and that their was no suffering.
Quick and painless for you, possible-I can only pray to God for that-but not for me. I suffer every moment of every hour of everyday. You've purloined my heart and soul, dear Annabel Lee, and have taken them with you to your dank crypt under this damned ground.
Oh, Annabel Lee! If I did not say it when you walked the earth, holding my hand and smiling quietly at me-I love you! Yet reciting it to your tombstone gives it absolutely no justification whatsoever. It just makes the scorching tears to flow faster and my shoulders to shake harder. I can't bear the thought that I did not pour my heart and soul to you while you were alive and you went to the grave pondering whether or not my love for you was unconditional.
Do not worry though, my dear Annabel Lee, for I will be with you soon. I purloined a revolver and left them with a note at the lodging house. They should have known that it was bound to occur; I could not live my days without you any longer. I yearn to be with you and it is a sensation which no mortal object of earth can quell.
Perhaps they are searching for me all ready. This will mostly likely the first place they look, so I must carry this out quickly. I told them that I want my gravestone next to yours. I want it not to read Spot Conlon-a poor pathetic excuse for a human being-but Benjamin Conlon. You see, Annabel Lee, below all I was Benjamin Conlon. And I was Benjamin Conlon when I was with you-an innocent pure being. I said that I want to be placed next to my Annabel Lee Conlon. Oh, yes, I had them put Annabel Lee Conlon on your tombstone for you were mine, you see.
They're coming for me, Annabel Lee. I can see Jack's head just over a thatch of high grass. He most likely will attempt to talk me out of it, but I cannot live without you. I said my goodbyes to him and to all at the poker party last night. For I will never speak to him again.
I have the barrel of the revolver in my mouth now, Annabel Lee. It's a hard, metallic taste. I pray to God that my death will be quick and painless just like they said yours was, Annabel Lee.
But it does not matter. I will soon be with you, Annabel Lee, and soon I will once more be able to hold your satin-smooth hand in mine and make love to you under blazing sunsets. Here I come, my dearest Annabel Lee.
Note from Author: More fun with Spot suicide/angst.(I was quite bored at a family get together.)
ANNABEL LEE
You were beautiful. Absolutely beautiful. Do you know that? Can you remember how beautiful you were? You held my heart in the palm of your delicate, creamy hand and each time I witnessed you it was as though you were slowly, excruciatingly, and wonderfully crushing it within your sensational grasp.
The same slender hand that you figuratively held my heart in, I physically held with my hand. Oh, Annabel Lee, do you remember when I used to hold your hand? I loved to hold your hand. Your creamy, fragile hand felt so wonderful in my hand that had been turned roughed and calloused over the years on the streets. It felt like some kind of exquisite satin whenever I placed my hand in yours.
Don't remember the time we held hands at all the drunken poker parties that Jack hosted. Then, then when I was around them, around my friends, I had to put on a show of airs. My utterly stupid pride blinded me so that I treated you like a gaudy whore rather than the love of my life that you were. They only knew me as Spot Conlon, Fearless Leader of Brooklyn; Spot 'Bed 'em, Don't Wed 'em' Conlon.
Oh, how I would fall before your grave on my knees and repent my immortal soul for all the pain and suffering I must have inflicted upon you. You must think that I cared only for my notorious reputation and never for you. But you have got it all wrong. I loved you, Annabel Lee. I love you Annabel Lee.
I feel the hot tears prick my eyes and my words are becoming difficult to form. I must try to compose myself. Spot Conlon does not cry.
Do not remember the times we spent holding hands at those damned poker parties. What I would not give to have the burning image of I with that damned smirk upon my lips, my chest puffed, my eyes glinting with my new conquest with you holding my hand and following me quietly eradicated from my psyche; alas, I feel as though it is emblazoned into my mind for all eternity as an everlasting reminder of all the pain I caused you.
Oh, Annabel Lee, why did you have to leave me so soon? You were so beautiful, so absolutely beautiful, and you took my heart with you. Now I fear-now I know that I shall never be whole again.
Nay, do not think of us holding hands at those wild, alcohol-infested poker parties. Remember the first time that we met as I was selling my papes on that breathless, sweltering morning in August. I had wanted to fuck you and you had wanted to hold my hand.
Damn you, Annabel Lee! You had wanted to hold my hand and nothing more. The hot tears are beginning to stream freely now down my face and are landing on the high, weedy grass before your tomb stone. You, sweet innocent Annabel Lee, had only wanted to hold my hand. I had held my breath, you had given me that quiet smile of yours, and then you just as quietly slipped your hand into mine.
I had thought the gesture silly and petty, but then your utterly glorious hand brushed against mine and I felt the rest of my life in your hold. You squeezed tighter and I felt weak and I knew that my soul would be everlastingly indentured to you for all of eternity.
I swore that day, Annabel Lee, and even after your death I still have not broken my silent promise. I know that I never shall.
Remember the times, my dearest Annabel Lee, that we held hands as we used to sit on the docks behind the lodging house and watch the colored-smeared sky as the bloody sun would dip behind the horizon. I remember that you had been transfixed by the sunset and I had been utterly transfixed by you. I would hold your satin-hand and then the utterly uncontrollable urge that had been building inside me would roar to life and make me double over it hurt so much. I loved you so much, Annabel Lee, but I knew you weren't like them. I knew you weren't like all of those sultry harlots who would take a quick fuck in a darkened alley in the early mornings just to earn a few measly coins.
I knew you were different and I loved you so much that my heart would swell and leap into my mouth. You turned to me and asked me how I liked the sunset and I could not speak in fear that my heart would fall out of my mouth and onto your lap. But you had only smiled that quiet smile and squeezed my hand and brought you're heavenly lips against mine.
And then we made love on the docks. I remember for the violent sun ushered forth a cool, dark night with cold stars glittering indifferently above while I took you.
The sobs are so intense, so utterly overpowering now that I've fallen to my knees above your grave and am gripping your tombstone with my splayed fingers, my crown against the cold gray stone that bears your flawless name. But now you are gone, my Annabel Lee, now you are gone. They said that your death was quick and painless and that their was no suffering.
Quick and painless for you, possible-I can only pray to God for that-but not for me. I suffer every moment of every hour of everyday. You've purloined my heart and soul, dear Annabel Lee, and have taken them with you to your dank crypt under this damned ground.
Oh, Annabel Lee! If I did not say it when you walked the earth, holding my hand and smiling quietly at me-I love you! Yet reciting it to your tombstone gives it absolutely no justification whatsoever. It just makes the scorching tears to flow faster and my shoulders to shake harder. I can't bear the thought that I did not pour my heart and soul to you while you were alive and you went to the grave pondering whether or not my love for you was unconditional.
Do not worry though, my dear Annabel Lee, for I will be with you soon. I purloined a revolver and left them with a note at the lodging house. They should have known that it was bound to occur; I could not live my days without you any longer. I yearn to be with you and it is a sensation which no mortal object of earth can quell.
Perhaps they are searching for me all ready. This will mostly likely the first place they look, so I must carry this out quickly. I told them that I want my gravestone next to yours. I want it not to read Spot Conlon-a poor pathetic excuse for a human being-but Benjamin Conlon. You see, Annabel Lee, below all I was Benjamin Conlon. And I was Benjamin Conlon when I was with you-an innocent pure being. I said that I want to be placed next to my Annabel Lee Conlon. Oh, yes, I had them put Annabel Lee Conlon on your tombstone for you were mine, you see.
They're coming for me, Annabel Lee. I can see Jack's head just over a thatch of high grass. He most likely will attempt to talk me out of it, but I cannot live without you. I said my goodbyes to him and to all at the poker party last night. For I will never speak to him again.
I have the barrel of the revolver in my mouth now, Annabel Lee. It's a hard, metallic taste. I pray to God that my death will be quick and painless just like they said yours was, Annabel Lee.
But it does not matter. I will soon be with you, Annabel Lee, and soon I will once more be able to hold your satin-smooth hand in mine and make love to you under blazing sunsets. Here I come, my dearest Annabel Lee.