What Happens To Empty Theaters

When it's time to deliver that final line,
the audience heeds to every spoken word,
transfixed on the melody heard.
"I'm here to save the world from dread and disease.
Be the medicine that we need.
Take my hand, from my chest,
and wish away their angry mess."
He calls for the girl, gently
as lips become nervous and frail.
I'll be wooden wall to stop the flood,
but please finish me off,
drive yourself into me, be that trusty nail.

"And so the show goes on,"
makes it through the sound of chimes.
A round of applause, a round of cheer.
Let it be known that he saved his dear.
"I may have died, I may have gone,"
With his final breath, he said,
"The show must go on."

Oh cautious as we where, our time was up.
Please lift your seats as you leave to march the beat of our broken feet.
Raise yourself to the stage a compromise never made to enlist the cry of our rage.
Oh young as we are, our lives are now.

Clear the room from the sinking floor.
It won't let you forget, let you live,
for the surrounding curtain will make you contained.
But contained in them is darkened hope,
that the lines are forever to remain.
What is just a show if it's only just for show?
Make me moved, make me cry,
giving me a feeling in which my body can't satisfy.

I tell you now, I have to go,
but I'll be back again tomorrow.

"And so the show goes on,"
makes it through the sound of chimes.
A round of applause, a round of cheer.
Let it be known that he saved his dear.
"I may have died, I may have gone,"
With his final breath, he said,
"But the show must go on."

As the curtain falls, we take our last bow.
The performers, the stagehands, and now, the audience.
With lights and sound we come alive.
Without costumes and masks,
our faces are finally completely relaxed.