Act II

The curtain’s up,
And I’m alive.

A crowd of faces,
A bright light;
The smell of wood,
The music playing.
The curtain’s up,
And they’re alive.

One between many
Is the one you hoped would show up.
And though you can’t see him
You know that this is your moment;
Now, when
The curtain’s up
And he’s alive.

Somehow she’s your favorite Maria,
Although you know you’ve seen better.
It must be the lights;
Watching down and
Following around like an eye that
Sees everything,
And puts you –literally– in the spotlight.
Everything trembles, because
The curtain’s up,
And she’s alive.

How ironic this is!
That she’s the one who’s now alive,
Because at the end –she dies!–
In fact, we all die at The End,
And that’s as far as our life span goes;
From the Prologue to the Epilogue.
We’re born when
The curtain goes up,
And we die when it falls.

There’s something beautiful about this.
Here’s where the beauty lies;
That our lives don’t last on the stage,
Regardless of how many years we live outside of it.
We’re born and we die every day,
(Sometimes even twice a day,)
And people pay to watch, -how bizarre!-
Little do they know, that when
The curtain falls,
They die with us.

Trigger

It’s easy to pull the trigger, and kill,
And walk away
With the product of your first
–But possibly not last–
Murder.

Because no one could possibly be
So sick
So insane
To deny how many times
They’ve gone around in broad daylight
Murdering strangers.

You, watch your steps,
Because it’s in the morning when they kill.
And it’s in the evening when they kill.
Or any time, really.
In the morning, when the light is good,
Or in the evening,
When their flashing lights are more than enough.

Hitman,
Sniper.
Are you happy to do what you do?
How many lives yet to destroy
you have left on your list?

A trigger is still a trigger,
No matter where you find it.