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.