cabbitzilla: (Default)
Lyrics of Relevance. There're two of them, and they ... interact with the post below. Please pardon any typos... it's difficult to type through the tears.

The night is growing dark from somewhere deep within
It shelters like an ark and always takes you in

And the mind goes numb
'Till it's feeling no pain
And the soul cries out
For a handful of rain

Wash your women in your whiskey
When your future's in the past
And you're staring up at heaven
From the bottom of a glass
And you need some insulation from the years you've had and lost
And you feel the perspiration as you're adding up the cost

And the night rolls on
Like a slow moving train
And the soul cries out

There's a land beyond the living
There's a land beyond the dead
If it's true that God's forgiving
Of the lives that we have led
In the distance there's a thunder and the air is thick and warm
And the patrons watch with wonder the approaching of the storm

And the night rolls on
Like a slow moving train
And the soul cries out
For a handful of rain

All right

There's an old man in the corner and he's smoking all the time
And the smoke is drifting upward and it's
Twisting in my - Twisting in my
Mind ... In my mind

The whiskey's getting deeper and I use it like a moat
There's a blues man in the distance and he's
Lost inside his - Lost inside his note
His note ... His note

The night is growing dark from somewhere deep within
It shelters like an ark that always takes you in

And the night rolls on
Like a slow moving train
And the soul cries out
For a handful of rain
-Handful of Rain from Savatage (Handful of Rain)


========================================================================

So after all these one night stands
You've ended up with heart in hand
A child alone, on your own, retreating.

Regretful for the things you're not
And all dreams you haven't got
Without a home, a heart of stone, lies bleeding

And for all the roads you followed
And for all you did not find
And for all the things you had to leave behind

I am the way. I am the light. I am the dark inside the night
I hear your hopes. I feel your dreams. And in the dark I hear your screams
Don't turn away; just take my hand and when you make your final stand
I'll be right there. I'll never leave. All I ask of you ... Believe.

Your childhood eyes were so intense
While bartering your innocence
For bits of string
Grown-up wings
You needed

But when you had to add them up
You found that they were not enough
To get you in
Pay for sins repeated

And for all the years you borrowed
And for all the tears you cried
And for all the fears you had to keep inside

I am the way. I am the light. I am the dark inside the night
I hear your hopes. I feel your dreams. And in the dark I hear your screams
Don't turn away; just take my hand and when you make your final stand
I'll be right there. I'll never leave. All I ask of you ... Believe.

I never wanted to know
Never wanted to see
I wasted my time
Till time wasted me
Never wanted to go
Always wanted to stay
'Cause the person I am
Are the parts that I play
So I plot and I plan
Hope and I scheme
To the lure of a night
Filled with unfinished dreams
And I'm holding on tight
To a world gone astray
As they charge me for years
I can't pay

I am the way. I am the light. I am the dark inside the night
I hear your hopes. I feel your dreams. And in the dark I hear your screams
Don't turn away; just take my hand and when you make your final stand
I'll be right there. I'll never leave. All I ask of you ... Believe.

Believe
-Believe from Savatage (Streets: A Rock Opera)


Don't see the connection? Ah.

Imagine, if you can, being a 36 year old seemingly perpetual-pre-op male-to-female transsexual. An overweight one, with a hefty smoking habit. One that went through a long dark period, where all the dreams had died and the only comfort left was in alcohol, and walling everyone and everything away... surrounding yourself with a wall of ice that left you looking cold, viscious, and deadly. When the people who'd been trusted had, every last one of them, betrayed you. Alone, trapped in a husk that was as alien as the society around you.

It wasn't a good time. I was saved some years back by a stranger met one night in a BDSM themed club in Baltimore, who saw what I was doing to myself... and where it was going to end. That individual used every ounce of might in Herself to smash a hole through the ice and haul me bodily out into the light again. She proved to me that while 'people' may not be trustworthy, individual persons could be, and that SHE was. My loyalty to the woman in question surpassed everything else in my life. Ten years after we parted ways, that loyalty still existed, simply dormant while time and distance was between us.

This morning, She lost a short and incredibly bitter battle with lymphatic cancer. The memories and lessons learned at Her hands made me who and what I am today, and I loved Her more intensely than I thought possible. She taught me that it wasn't a crime to dream, that it wasn't a crime to take steps to -be- who you are within, that while it may not be 'safe' to love that it IS the right thing to do, and that being true to yourself is more important than fitting someone else's perceptions of who -they- think you are. Lessons I'm not doing my utmost to pass on to others that I treasure, in spite of their continuous and strenuous objections that they are not worthy of such things. Those objections only strengthen my resolve; I will do what I was taught and trained to do.

Good night, my beloved Mistress. Sleep well, until the Wheel spins you out again. Know that I will heed your final wishes.

I love you.
~Elisabeth
cabbitzilla: (Default)
You walk in the room and you're wearing a frown,
You reach for the shelf and cradle it down
The Music Box Dancer, what does it prove?
Only that you need to see a statue that moves.
A tutu of satin, bordered with lace,
Slender lines, agile legs, a wonderland face.
Her beauty is balanced, an immovable pose,
Eternally destined to remain on her toes.

Music Box Dancer, she is only a toy,
Project upon her your dreams of wanting life's joy;
She's perched on her stand, and never will part,
A final gaze upon her, now the music will start.

You wind the doll up, it's nostalgic because
You've been here before, so give one final pause
To dream of the future, to reflect on the past,
Music Box Dancer start your whirling at last.
The room fills with music, such a cute song,
Watching her go 'round and 'round, she's where she belongs;
Bring joy to the watchers, spreading a glow,
Whenever wound up, she'll put on a good show.

Music Box Dancer, do you think or believe
She could step off her box if she wanted to leave?
So easy it is, twirl around with such grace,
Staying in her circle, she remains in one place.

Such a brief moment, a small time to spend,
The dancing will slow soon, the music will end;
In real life we're plastic, nature's unfair,
How can we breathe life, how can we share
The knowledge and insights hidden in tombs,
We're all Music Box Dancers all alone in our rooms;
We sit on our shelves where objects reside,
We don't allow the music to get right inside.

Music Box Dancer's now completely alone,
No winder or no listener, because nobody's home;
How long before someone will re-wind the spring?
The room will now be witness; and silence can't sing.
...Music Box Dancer
...Original Piano Music by Frank Mills
...Lyrical Accompaniment by Norman Pollack, 3/17/1981

The poem and the midi file (an -excellent- midi file, might I add) can be found HERE.

I... need to get back on track getting the weight off. The sooner I can get my weight stabilized around the 250 mark, the sooner I can start trying to ditch my 23 year old cigarette habit... and the sooner I can begin trying to retrain and repair my voice.

In the spring of 1984, the small fusion ensemble that I was nominally the lead for did a last minute fill-in performance for an anniversary party being held at our local American Legion lodge. We'd finished the sets we'd promised, and most of the others had already packed out and vanished, leaving the keyboard player and I to hold the fort as we finished packing up... and were asked for another song. We looked at each other in panic, and he mouthed the word 'Dancer' to me. It was something we'd been noodling about with, but had never actually -performed-... but it was the only thing that we had anywhere near 'ready' that just the two of us could pull off. I shrugged, a bit nervous about -singing- in public; my role was the frontman and trombone player, and the singing was normally handled by Julie.

We uncased his 'board again, set up, took a deep breath, and launched into it. The world stopped. I remember the sensation... everything around me crystalized into glass, and there simply was nothing else but the lyrics that spilled from my heart. When we finished, the hubbub of the party had utterly vanished. Utter silence washed over Paul and I, and I thought my heart was going to shatter. And then the applause started. We were both astounded... when I turned to look at him, he was -staring- at me as if I'd suddenly become something vastly different from the bandgeek he knew. We got praised, we got tipped, and we were begged for full twenty minutes to 'do it again'. Paul agreed almost immediately, and spent the time trying to help me get the 'deer in the headlights' look off my face. It touched me so deeply... I wasn't sure I could survive doing it again. My voice cracked twice during the second rendition, and I was crying by the time I finished. Paul looked as worried as I'd ever seen him... I think he was afraid I was going to keel over on the spot.

We finished. I got myself under enough control that I'd stopped crying and shaking, and was helping get everything packed back up when an elderly woman stepped up to my side and tugged on my sleeve. We found out that this woman was the true organizer of this gathering, a party to celebrate her daughter's and her son's weddings, held on the same month and day three years apart. Found out that she'd -not- been pleased by the last minute substitution of 'a band of young rapscallions' for the Swing band that'd originally been booked. And then she apologized to us, and handed us each an additional check for $50. We were stunned. The entire 8 piece band had been booked for the total sum of $80 for the evening... $10 a person covered our personal gasoline costs, and we were highschool kids with no real sense of money. But she wanted us to know how much we'd made the party a success, and how pleased she was with our closing performance.

As things turned out, that night turned out to be Spring Dream's last gig. Paul and I were accused of trying to cut the others out of 'their fair share'... even after we'd -both- volunteered first thing to divvy it all up like everything else. It caused a feud that destroyed four friendships, the band, and a goodly chunk of my senior year of High School. Aside from various choir performances, I've not sung publicly since. Tonight, in the course of my conversation with Ryn-chan, she mentioned the tune... it hit memories long buried, and I burbled something about lyrics. She'd never seen or heard lyrics for it, so I went off on one of my infamous snipe hunts via Google and located it for her, which brought back the rest of the memories.

It brought back the urge to sing again. But there're things that have to be done first... the things I listed off earlier. For now... it's a lovely dream, and the sensations I felt when I sang this song so long ago now make sense; in a way, I've always been the Music Box Dancer...

~Ellie-chan

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November 2012

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