Phantasmagoria,
Torment tournament.
Showcase fear and abandonment,
Enlighten them.

Under the sorrowful watch of purity,
What the power of light is supposed to be,
In the womb of the shadow a wonder takes place.
In the misterious darkness, the miracle of life,
It happens.
Impossible, if you ask any sane person.

But of course, this child has no holy aura;
No saint parents, and no certain path.
He is destined to walk blind among a plethora
Of feelings resembling a psychological bloodbath.

But sure, in the world of theatre,
The spotlight reaches only certain angles,
And in the macabre corners of art,
Shadow becomes what it resembles.
The child takes the form of horror,
Of fear encrusted deep in the human skull.
Eyes, as they're watching, see it be born
And become the monster they all fear,
Nightmares finally taking form,
Finally becoming flesh and bone,
Overlaying the true purpose of the act,
To enlighten the power of pretendance,
The power of the human spirit
And the parasite that inhabits it.

Fear, who doesn't wish it would disappear?
But as long as there's Heaven, there has to be a Hell
And wherever light is taking place,
Darkness needs to do as well.

So, as you're tied down to a chair,
In a hall the size of despair,
Not wanting to see what is in front of your eyes,
But doing so in a sort of delirious trance,
Would you look away from the stage?
Would you miss what makes your weakness in tri-dimensional stance?
Or would you rather be happy, not knowing that place,
Although carrying the burden of curiosity for the rest of your days?
If you would've asked, I could've given you my best words of wisdom,
Do not walk in the theatre if you care for the rest of your freedom.