Masquerade

Come in, little moth, beckoned to the flame
Grace us with a dance
Welcome to the masquerade

Take wing, my angel, break off your chains
Rapture is a haven where the
Great are not constrained
Feel how the freedom of expression liberates!
But the ebb and flow will
Come and go in waves
Strip away the artifice - of
What are you made?
A medium of blood and flesh
Let the world become a stage
There's an art to war and a
War to art the same
But I am not the one with which
A war you want to wage
Make a weapon of the instrument you play
But if the key's predictable
The signature must change
I've laid you down a canvas
Which shortly you will stain
With a palette of your sweat and
Tears coursing through your veins
Is an unconceived masterpiece
Put the paint to practice
Unadulterated till your hands take action
Make crickets of the critics
All devoid of thought or vision
Unfamiliar to our labor
With irreverent opinion
Plaster them with imperfect purpose
Bare yourself, draw back the curtains
Show us how tragic your story is
After all I know you've wanted an audience
Underneath your untested, unquestioned desire
Lies a disdained creator
- dishonesty conspires
To supplant ingenuity with
Ugliest conformance
Put your mask on, give us a performance

You want perfection? Lost in pursuit of it?
Take my direction, I can lead you to it
The audience is not your friend
You just love their applause
Cause an honest artist isn't what they want
Better off with the mask on

So take the mask off

Upon the curtains' closure, tell me
Was it all a facade, little moth?
When the masquerade is over will you keep
It on or rip it off?
Do you know your part in the play?
The role for which you've been cast?
Go forth, flutter and frolic
No more keep up an act
As you become your mask, demand validation
Back for an encore, standing ovation
Dance to your heart's content with elation
The phantom just began his manifestation
The product of an operatic equation
Your ballad's become an uncensored sensation
Blessed in inception - damned in creation
As you find violence your hand's motivation
Rage is a symphony, glistening with crimson
Your vigor is a gift with
Which you've been christened
An artistic epiphany is blissful
If you listen as the visionaries
Are we ever crippled with precision
But the gravest sin committed
Is abandoning conviction
If you're guilty of it you'll
Be granted no admission
Tickets are revoked for
All irrelevant opinions
Unoriginality is not a fixable condition
I've disposed of my disciples
I'm without a muse
They wore such unbecoming judgement
But I'm bound to you
My fickle inspiration might just
Be found in you
Little moth, you are my Songbird
Now don't sing out of tune

I'm searching for the perfect harmony
But all I
Can find is dissonance! It's my curse
My fucking curse!

I must seduce the ear, delight the spirit
A song is reviled if no one should revere it
So I want you all, yet none at all
To hear it i've come to love a crowd just
So much as fear it
No gods or kings, only man
No divine intervention with
These mortal hands
The spotlights hot and all eyes are drawn
My makeups flaking, but my smile is on

You want perfection? Lost in pursuit of it?
Take my direction, I can lead you to it
The audience is not your friend
You just love their applause
Cause an honest artist isn't what they want
Better off with the mask on

Presto, Fitzpatrick! Presto!