1Legends of lunacy
imagine tears
If you guys want to feel the same amount of emotion that i felt when i wrote this song, please listen to " Who is this Child" by trans-siberian orchestra.
A young author sat reclining in an armchair, staring at an empty screen as he listened to his set on random. No mattered what song came on he couldn't achieve the motivation to spur on his imagination, no amount of rock, classical, or metal seemed to be his saving grace this day. Finally, in frustration, he reached forward to unplug his music player. As his fingers brushed the cord, a new song gently arose from the speakers, a song he had forgotten he had even had. He leaned back into his chair, 'maybe', he thought, 'maybe just one more song.' with that thought he closed his eyes and let his mind run free, painting a scene in his mind unlike anything he had ever seen before.
the scene opened in the snow covered streets of London in the 1900's. Pearing out of a window, a well off man in a black suit coat, a monocle in his jacket's pocket. Over his shoulder, through the frosted window, an orphaned girl-child dressed in rags had fallen asleep on the stoop outside his door. He took a breath and began to sing.
Who is this child
That I've never seen before?
Who is this child
That I've not seen till this day?
Who dares to fall asleep
Outside my door?
if we should wait awhile
I'm sure she'll go away
He turned around, pacing a few steps away from the frosted portal to the outside. Running his fingers through his hair with a nervous edge he glanced at the crucifix that was placed upon his mantle before walking back to the window.
To be involved with this
Would surely not be wise
For in the final word
She means nothing to me
I learned the trick is
That we just avoid her eyes
And the question
What she means to
He stepped away and strode to the crucifix, His up in a motion reminiscent of prayer, he's eyes pleading.
What is this life?
There will be other lives
Soon to arrive
Surely some will survive
She is but one
he gestured to the door. Tears welling up in his eyes.
And there are many more
Each the same as any other
Who is this child?
What does she mean to me?
I close my eyes
And still her face I see
She is but one
Her kind is everywhere
Can't you see there's no way I should care?
He turned from the holy symbol, his eyes shut in denial, tears beginning to leak from his lashes..
I need a moment now
I have to clear my mind
Is there a limit Lord
Just to being kind?
There is no way in life
That each child can be saved
Should I be looking with regret
At every grave
There are no guarantees
In life she should be warned
I'm not responsible
For this child being born
I'm not responsible
In any kind of way
For every child that life can gather
He turned back to the symbol of his god, his coat tails flaring around him from the sudden movements. as he once more assumed a position of supplication. kneeling, he eye gazed upon his God again, filled with a frustration for doing what is right and what a man of his station would do.
What is this life?
There will be other lives
Soon to arrive
Surely some will survive
She is but one
And there are many more
Could this one life really matter?
Who is this child?
What does she mean to me?
Quietly he stood and fell against the door frame, before sliding down into a sitting position, resting his head against the solid barrier separating him from the sleeping child.
I close my eyes
And still her face I see
She is but one
Her kind is everywhere
Can't you see there's no way I should care?
His eyes closed, and flashes of the others, the orphaned children that society would try to ignore. begging on the corner, their dirty faces filled with hope that just one person would try and help them this day. He eyes flew open, full of determination. His voice reflected this.
And you see it in the night
And you feel that it's out there
It's the arcing of a life
And it's hanging in the air
Though I try to close my eyes
And pretend that I don't know
In my heart I just can't let it go
He stood up and his face covered in tears that poured from his eyes, his fist raised into the air. his finely dressed clothes were scuffed and wrinkled in his tormented decision making.
There has to be another way for me
A way that leads from this insanity
A way that leads from my destruction as I say
Can you see it in the night?
Can you feel that it's out there?
His gloved hand reached for the doorknob. his hand shook as it approached his final decision. Grasping the device with the grip of a man who knew what he was doing was right. His voice grew in strength.
It's the arcing of a life
And it's hanging in the air
Though I try to close my eyes
And pretend that I don't know
In my heart I just can't let it
Go….
With a turn of the know he opened the door, awakening the child. Her eyes opened and found his, filling with hope as she searched his face for the reason that he would open the portal into the house. The rich man bent down on one knee, bringing his head down to her level. He extended his hand towards her ,palm up, tears still streaming down his face.
The girls face slowly filled with happiness as her own hand slowly reached out to grasp his in return.
The music ended, the author own eyes opened, wet with emotion as a single tear fell down his cheek. lifting his head, he turned to his computer, and began to write.
Hey everyone, I was listening to a song sung by Trans-siberian orchestra called " Who is this Child" and it brought this whole story to me as i was walking with my music trying to find an idea to write about. When i hear the song the emotion just had to be put on paper… or the web as is the case, so i hope you could enjoy this as much as I did.