Disclaimer: Wheeeeeeeeeeeeeeee...
Dedicated to Phantom Aria, the most prolific and most talented Phantom poet ever. May she always write poetry...and never give up. And to Edgar Allan Poe, the masterful writer of poems and horrific short stories, whom without we would never have our beloved Red Death.
"The Red Death" by The Phantom Parisienne
"Touch me not!
I am Red Death stalking abroad!"
His voice echoes through the halls
His steps cause the earth to tremble;
The guests to tremble
Fear spreads through the crowd like a soft ripple on a pond
The Phantom makes his entrance.
Scarlet feathers crown his hat and nod slowly as his head does
A majestic vermillion cape sweeps to the floor
He is dangerous and
All can sense it.
Terror cannot be hidden behind a mask,
Though many attempt to do so.
He laughs his hollow, cruel laugh
His garments shimmer as if ablaze
Naught but one soul knows if it is a mask or true flesh
They tremble in fear lest it be real
They are frightened with good cause
For it is flesh and blood
Not yet warm
Cold and scarred
To touch it would be true pain
But to bear it is far worse than death
No-one imagines the man behind the monster
Because they do not know there is one
He is simply the Red Death
Terrifying and half-alive
The cape swirls;
A river of blood washes around him
The Red Death is magnificent;
Yet he is terrible.
He is not a man,
But just a thing.
That is what they believe.
Erik is non-existent
He has ceased to live
A monster takes his place for the night
Stalking the Opéra in his stead
His heart beats loudly in his ears
Though it is not even an echo in others.
The man will return
The Phantom will return
But all fear it.
Dedicated to Phantom Aria, the most prolific and most talented Phantom poet ever. May she always write poetry...and never give up. And to Edgar Allan Poe, the masterful writer of poems and horrific short stories, whom without we would never have our beloved Red Death.
"The Red Death" by The Phantom Parisienne
"Touch me not!
I am Red Death stalking abroad!"
His voice echoes through the halls
His steps cause the earth to tremble;
The guests to tremble
Fear spreads through the crowd like a soft ripple on a pond
The Phantom makes his entrance.
Scarlet feathers crown his hat and nod slowly as his head does
A majestic vermillion cape sweeps to the floor
He is dangerous and
All can sense it.
Terror cannot be hidden behind a mask,
Though many attempt to do so.
He laughs his hollow, cruel laugh
His garments shimmer as if ablaze
Naught but one soul knows if it is a mask or true flesh
They tremble in fear lest it be real
They are frightened with good cause
For it is flesh and blood
Not yet warm
Cold and scarred
To touch it would be true pain
But to bear it is far worse than death
No-one imagines the man behind the monster
Because they do not know there is one
He is simply the Red Death
Terrifying and half-alive
The cape swirls;
A river of blood washes around him
The Red Death is magnificent;
Yet he is terrible.
He is not a man,
But just a thing.
That is what they believe.
Erik is non-existent
He has ceased to live
A monster takes his place for the night
Stalking the Opéra in his stead
His heart beats loudly in his ears
Though it is not even an echo in others.
The man will return
The Phantom will return
But all fear it.
