ACT 1: LA MORT EST EN COLÈRE

it is the evening of Victorian England and my hand is laying solemnly against the desk littered
with the smell of woman’s perfume how I wish they will kiss me as they have done in 1760 again
how I wish to hear them again But I know they are old and skeletal now death has approached
and it is no longer knocking it has let itself in forcibly, unexpectedly, angrily there comes a point
where death is tired of waiting and that is the day you know you have truly lived

I hear something now it is urging me it is my silhouette and it whispers my name silently calling
me ever so softly as a dove comforts it’s child “Ma dove Ma Laurent come now follow me Ma
dove Ma ange reap of sorrow of old lovers of grief no more”

and I know I must reach it Yes yes I must know where it is Heading I feel it in my bones that if I
do not follow it I fear I will not see tomorrow as greatly as I do now I fear my days will be left dull
and colorless

“O chanting silhouette of enigma: I am sad I am in love with you but O mistake me for no fool O
take my hand and thou shall arrival me at the hands of where you long me to be away from here
where I have not seen sunlight for 7 days straight take me away from my unforgiving mother in
which I have seeked her love for all corners of the world I seek no longer for that woman that
does not care thou shall take my hand and take me away”

The silhouette captures my hand and I think to myself my god hands are beautiful and so delicate
I realize how I longed for the soft aching touch of hands that will not touch me in the places I did
not long for I need not realize how much I needed longing till then

the silhouette makes me follow it at the staircase we are at the door now my brother is laying on
the floor he stares but does not move the plates of that night when my father had screamed at
him lay unchanged the scene is

ACT 1: LA MORT EST

EN COLÈRE

it is the evening of Victorian England and my hand is laying solemnly against the desk littered
with the smell of woman’s perfume how I wish they will kiss me as they have done in 1760 again
how I wish to hear them again But I know they are old and skeletal now death has approached
and it is no longer knocking it has let itself in forcibly, unexpectedly, angrily there comes a point
where death is tired of waiting and that is the day you know you have truly lived

I hear something now it is urging me it is my silhouette and it whispers my name silently calling
me ever so softly as a dove comforts it’s child “Ma dove Ma icarus come now follow me Ma dove
Ma ange reap of sorrow of old lovers of grief no more”

and I know I must reach it Yes yes I must know where it is Heading I feel it in my bones that if I
do not follow it I fear I will not see tomorrow as greatly as I do now I fear my days will be left dull
and colorless

“O chanting silhouette of enigma: I am sad I am in love with you but O mistake me for no fool O
take my hand and thou shall arrival me at the hands of where you long me to be away from here
where I have not seen sunlight for 7 days straight O chanting silhouette of the sun take me away
from my unforgiving mother in which I have seeked her love for all four corners of the world I
seek no longer for that woman that does not see that blind woman thou shall take my hand and
take me away”

The silhouette captures my hand and I think to myself my god hands are beautiful and so delicate
I realize how I longed for the soft aching touch of hands that will not touch me in the places I did
not long for the places my mother did not care to violate I did not realize how much I needed
longing until then

the silhouette makes me follow it at the staircase we are at the door now my brother is laying on
the floor he stares but does not move I do not make an effort to change him he is a catatonic
man and it is better to leave him that way

ACT 1:

it is the evening of Victorian England and my hand is laying solemnly against the desk littered
with the smell of woman’s perfume how I wish they will kiss me as they have done in 1760 again
how I wish to hear them again But I know they are old and skeletal now death has approached
and it is no longer knocking it has let itself in forcibly, unexpectedly, angrily there comes a point
where death is tired of waiting and that is the day you know you have truly lived

I hear something now it is urging me it is my silhouette and it whispers my name silently calling
me ever so softly as a dove comforts it’s child “Ma dove Ma Laurent come now follow me Ma
me ever so softly as a dove comforts it’s child “Ma dove Ma Laurent come now follow me Ma
dove Ma ange reap of sorrow of old lovers of grief no more”

and I know I must reach it Yes yes I must know where it is I feel it in my bones if I do not follow
it I fear I will not see tomorrow as greatly as I do now I fear my days will be left dull and colorless