Am
Lo! 't is a gala night
C Em
Within the lonesome latter years!
Am
An angel throng, bewinged, bedight
C Em
In veils, and drowned in tears,
Am
Sit in a theatre, to see
C Em
A play of hopes and fears,
Am
While the orchestra breathes fitfully
C Em
The music of the spheres.
Am
Mimes, in the form of God on high,
C Em
Mutter and mumble low,
Am
And hither and thither fly -
C Em
Mere puppets they, who come and go
Am
At bidding of vast formless things
C Em
That shift the scenery to and fro,
Am
Flapping from out their Condor wings
C Em
Invisible Wo!
Bridge or whatever - Dm Am C Em
Am
That motley drama - oh, be sure
C Em
It shall not be forgot!
Am
With its Phantom chased for evermore
C Em
By a crowd that seize it not,
Am C
Through a circle that ever returneth in
Em
To the self - same spot,
Dm Am
And much of Madness, and more of Sin,
C Em Dm
And Horror the soul of the plot.
(I start playing bridge on the "plot")
Dm Am C Em
Am
But see, amid the mimic rout,
C Em
A crawling shape intrude!
Am
A blood-red thing that writhes from out
C Em
The scenic solitude!
Am
It writhes! - it writhes! - with mortal pangs
C Em
The mimes become its food,
Am
And seraphs sob at vermin fangs
C Em
In human gore imbued.
Dm Am C Em
Am
Out - out are the lights - out all!
C Em
And, over each quivering form,
Am
The curtain, a funeral pall,
C Em
Comes down with the rush of a storm,
Am
While the angels, all pallid and wan,
C Em
Uprising, unveiling, affirm
Am
That the play is the tragedy, "Man,"
C Em Dm
And its hero, the Conqueror Worm.
(Again, the bridge)
Dm Am C Em