Masquerade

Come in, little moth, beckoned to the flame Grace us with a dance, welcome to the masquerade Take wing, my angel, break off your chains Rapture is a haven where the great are not constrained Feel how the freedom of expression liberates But the ebb and flow will come and go in waves Strip away the artifice, of what are you made? A medium of blood and flesh, let the world become a stage There's an art to war and a war to art the same But I am not the one with which a war you want to wage Make a weapon of the instrument you play But if the key's predictable, the signature must change I've laid you down a canvas, which shortly you will stain With a palette of your sweat and tears coursing through your veins Is an unconceived masterpiece, put the paint to practice Unadulterated 'til your hands take action Make crickets of the critics, all devoid of thought or vision Unfamiliar to our labor with irreverent opinion Plaster them with imperfect purpose Bare yourself, draw back the curtains Show us how tragic your story is After all, I know you've wanted an audience Underneath your untested, unquestioned desire Lies a disdained creator, dishonesty conspires To supplant ingenuity with ugliest conformance Put your mask on, give us a performance You want perfection? Lost in pursuit of it? Take my direction, I can lead you to it The audience is not your friend, you just love their applause 'Cause an honest artist isn't what they want Better off with your mask on So take the mask off Upon the curtains' closure, tell me, was it all a facade, little moth? When the masquerade is over will you keep it on or rip it off? Do you know your part in the play? The role for which you've been cast? Go forth, flutter and frolic, no more, keep up an act As you become your mask, demand validation Back for an encore, standing ovation Dance to your heart's content with elation The phantom just began his manifestation The product of an operatic equation Your ballad's become an uncensored sensation Blessed in inception, damned in creation As you find violence your hand's motivation Rage is a symphony, glistening with crimson Your vigor is a gift with which you've been christened An artistic epiphany is blissful if you listen As the visionaries, are we ever crippled with precision? But the gravest sin committed is abandoning conviction If you're guilty of it you'll be granted no admission Tickets are revoked for all irrelevant opinions Unoriginality is not a fixable condition I've disposed of my disciples, I'm without a muse They wore such unbecoming judgement, but I'm bound to you My fickle inspiration might just be found in you Little moth, you are my Songbird, now don't sing out of tune I'm searching for the perfect harmony But all I can find is dissonance It's my curse, my fucking curse I must seduce the ear, delight the spirit A song is reviled if no one should revere it So I want you all, yet none at all, to hear it I've come to love a crowd just so much as fear it No gods or kings, only man No divine intervention with these mortal hands The spotlight's hot and all eyes are drawn My makeup's flaking, but my smile is on You want perfection? Lost in pursuit of it? Take my direction, I can lead you to it The audience is not your friend, you just love their applause 'Cause an honest artist isn't what they want Better off with your mask on Presto, Fitzpatrick, presto