The chandeliers burn sickly gold,
Above a sea of waiting eyes,
While velvet curtains, red and old,
Hang heavy under painted skies.
The orchestra begins to play
A tune no living hand recalls,
And somewhere, very far away,
Black stars awaken over Hali’s halls.
The audience laughs. The house grows dim.
Each smiling face turns toward the stage.
None know the play remembers them,
Their names already stain the page.
The curtain parts. No soul has fled.
The First Act starts. The doors are sealed.
And somewhere in the dark, it’s said,
A pallid mask begins to peel.