Disclaimer: Really, really getting sick of this, as you all know Monsieur
Baz created Moulin Rouge!
this will be the last chapter in my collection (probably) This last poem is just one about Christian writing about his terrible nights without Satine, and how he briefly contemplates suicide it is called 'Night Pains' it's a pretty dark one and long one too.
There is nothing but the stars at night
Nothing but that bright silver light
There's nothing in the street tonight,
Everyone's gone to sleep until the sun shines bright
I sit here, up on my windowsill
I sit here until
Until love comes back to me
I'll sit here until once again I feel free
I sit here thinking about you, of all things
I sit here to wait and see what the night brings
An owl hoots loudly, so it echoes through the dark
A shooting star passes, leaving a faint spark
And yet I still sit here, are you wondering why?
I can't sleep I just sit and cry
I cant cry too loudly, so I keep most of it still bottled up inside
And it's hard to do so, because as I once said 'I'm not one of those who can easily hide'
I cry until my head goes into a spin, so that I can no longer understand
My eyes get so blurred I can barely see my own hand
But I keep crying, under I lose all comprehension, and I can no longer keep,
Myself awake, so I reluctantly fall asleep
But even in sleep, I can hear my blood rushing through my veins,
Magnifying my pains
My blood, like red wine liquor, thick and rich, precious, staining and red
Flowing so loud as I lie here unconscious in my bed
In dreams you fill my head, teasing me, daring me to believe,
And I do every time, then wake up and grieve
I toss and turn in the sheets, before whacking my head harshly on the wall
Stifling my desperate call
My call out to you, calling you, always you, just you
All night, until the sky is once again blue
Summer nights are bad; sweat dribbles down my forehead, down my nose and sinks into my lips
And the taste is unbearable, I spit it out, like bad water, but still, down my forehead it drips
Onto the pillowcase, already wet with my tears
The pillow I hug so tightly to try and forget my fears
I wake suddenly; out of my unconscious sleep the blood became too loud
I look up to the moon for some comfort, but find it's been covered by a cloud
With my head, automatically falling into my hands, I sigh
And I cry
Then I fall asleep and it all happens again, the blood, dreams, sweat,
Until I wake again, I bet.
this will be the last chapter in my collection (probably) This last poem is just one about Christian writing about his terrible nights without Satine, and how he briefly contemplates suicide it is called 'Night Pains' it's a pretty dark one and long one too.
There is nothing but the stars at night
Nothing but that bright silver light
There's nothing in the street tonight,
Everyone's gone to sleep until the sun shines bright
I sit here, up on my windowsill
I sit here until
Until love comes back to me
I'll sit here until once again I feel free
I sit here thinking about you, of all things
I sit here to wait and see what the night brings
An owl hoots loudly, so it echoes through the dark
A shooting star passes, leaving a faint spark
And yet I still sit here, are you wondering why?
I can't sleep I just sit and cry
I cant cry too loudly, so I keep most of it still bottled up inside
And it's hard to do so, because as I once said 'I'm not one of those who can easily hide'
I cry until my head goes into a spin, so that I can no longer understand
My eyes get so blurred I can barely see my own hand
But I keep crying, under I lose all comprehension, and I can no longer keep,
Myself awake, so I reluctantly fall asleep
But even in sleep, I can hear my blood rushing through my veins,
Magnifying my pains
My blood, like red wine liquor, thick and rich, precious, staining and red
Flowing so loud as I lie here unconscious in my bed
In dreams you fill my head, teasing me, daring me to believe,
And I do every time, then wake up and grieve
I toss and turn in the sheets, before whacking my head harshly on the wall
Stifling my desperate call
My call out to you, calling you, always you, just you
All night, until the sky is once again blue
Summer nights are bad; sweat dribbles down my forehead, down my nose and sinks into my lips
And the taste is unbearable, I spit it out, like bad water, but still, down my forehead it drips
Onto the pillowcase, already wet with my tears
The pillow I hug so tightly to try and forget my fears
I wake suddenly; out of my unconscious sleep the blood became too loud
I look up to the moon for some comfort, but find it's been covered by a cloud
With my head, automatically falling into my hands, I sigh
And I cry
Then I fall asleep and it all happens again, the blood, dreams, sweat,
Until I wake again, I bet.