and hand me a gun
Take hold of my strings
and let's start our own night of fun.
For I stand on this altar,
a fool for your amusement.
But feel no pity, grave mistress.
There is no place I'd rather be.
Make me crawl, make me dance,
make me weep, make me sing.
As long as you're smiling pretty,
I won't regret a single thing.
So hand me an instrument of choice.
Direct tonight's massacre as you wish.
For all the world is but a stage,
And destruction, if served, is the tastiest dish.
So let me wither, wear and tear,
let this be my last indulgence,
Let me bleed on this plinth right here as I stand.
So my colours mark the path I have tread,
and my scent lingers in the places I belong.
Grant a groveling fool one last boon,
For one last measure of one last bar,
Let me entertain you.