Post by Libitine on Jan 25, 2008 2:46:32 GMT
Posted here by request. Please to enjoy Libitine's Ballad of a Broken Doll
Italic stuff is 'Fix You' lyrics by: Coldplay
SPOILER ALERT!
Italic stuff is 'Fix You' lyrics by: Coldplay
SPOILER ALERT!
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When you try your best, but you don't succeed
When you get what you want but not what you need
When you feel so tired but you can't sleep
Stuck in reverse?
‘You will drip rubies.’ He had said. ‘Sweeney Todd shall get his revenge.’ He had vowed.
Revenge. Had it been worth it?
Cold. It felt cold. Was gaining revenge meant to feel so cold?
The maddening drip of the blood, flowing down into the sewer bellow, creating a stream of red rose water for the rats to drink.
And the tears come streaming down your face
When you lose something you can't replace
When you love someone but it goes to waste
Could it be worst?
To stare down at her face, her chiseled, corpse features, and see nothing; no spark of life, no light gleaming in her eyes, was enough to crush him. It was enough to eat away at his heart, like the maggots and worms digging their way through dear old Mrs. Lovett’s meat pies. It was enough to make the small, remnants of a heart break, the remnants he had saved for her.
Lights will guide you home,
And ignite your bones,
And I will try to fix you.
His mouth opens, but no sound can escape his lips. He is frozen; cold, chilled to the depths of his bone.
There is nothing.
No cry. No cry of pain; of despair. No cry of outrage. No cry of defeat.
Only the constant drip, drip, drip of blood.
High up above or down below
When you're too in love to let it go
But if you never try you'll never know
Just what you're worth.
‘And she was beautiful.’ He wants to sing out, sing loud, as his hand grips the sleeve of her dress. ‘And she was beautiful.’
She is no longer beautiful. He can no longer find anything beautiful about her. Her eyes are dark, or he would imagine they would be dark if they were opened. Her hair, once golden like sun-silk, is gray and knotted. He can’t run his fingers through it. Her skin is cracked and broken, with scars and sores and streaks of tears.
She is broken.
Lights will guide you home
And ignite your bones
And I will try to fix you.
He hears the slow grinding sound of metal grate sliding across stone. The boy is back. He hears footsteps. The boy is trying to be silent. There is another scrape, but this time it is the sound of silver cutting stone; a rrazor-blade.
His eyes are frozen, stuck on the limp form in his arms. There is a cut across her neck, made with the same precision as the cuts in the necks of the two bodies behind him, and the cuts in the necks of the people who went into dear old Mrs. Lovett’s meat pies.
Dear old Mrs. Lovett.
He can still hear her screams.
He can smell her burnt flesh.
Tears stream down your face
When you lose something you cannot replace
Tears stream down on your face
And I . . .
The boy is behind him. Out of the corner of his eye, he sees the glint of a blade; a razor-blade. His eyes are cast down to the figure in his arms. His fingers grace her cheek.
She is cold.
She is broken.
Tears stream down your face
I promise you I will learn from my mistakes
Tears stream down on your face
And I . . .
Red water, rubies, drip down his chest as the boy backs away. The song of the blade; a razorblade, lingers in the air. It rings over and over drowning out the sound of blood pouring into the sewer like Hell’s waterfall.
His eyes, now clouded, now loosing focus, are still staring down at her. He can still make out her features as the red water settles in a pool around them.
They are broken together.
Lights will guide you home
And ignite your bones
And I will try to fix you.
When you get what you want but not what you need
When you feel so tired but you can't sleep
Stuck in reverse?
‘You will drip rubies.’ He had said. ‘Sweeney Todd shall get his revenge.’ He had vowed.
Revenge. Had it been worth it?
Cold. It felt cold. Was gaining revenge meant to feel so cold?
The maddening drip of the blood, flowing down into the sewer bellow, creating a stream of red rose water for the rats to drink.
And the tears come streaming down your face
When you lose something you can't replace
When you love someone but it goes to waste
Could it be worst?
To stare down at her face, her chiseled, corpse features, and see nothing; no spark of life, no light gleaming in her eyes, was enough to crush him. It was enough to eat away at his heart, like the maggots and worms digging their way through dear old Mrs. Lovett’s meat pies. It was enough to make the small, remnants of a heart break, the remnants he had saved for her.
Lights will guide you home,
And ignite your bones,
And I will try to fix you.
His mouth opens, but no sound can escape his lips. He is frozen; cold, chilled to the depths of his bone.
There is nothing.
No cry. No cry of pain; of despair. No cry of outrage. No cry of defeat.
Only the constant drip, drip, drip of blood.
High up above or down below
When you're too in love to let it go
But if you never try you'll never know
Just what you're worth.
‘And she was beautiful.’ He wants to sing out, sing loud, as his hand grips the sleeve of her dress. ‘And she was beautiful.’
She is no longer beautiful. He can no longer find anything beautiful about her. Her eyes are dark, or he would imagine they would be dark if they were opened. Her hair, once golden like sun-silk, is gray and knotted. He can’t run his fingers through it. Her skin is cracked and broken, with scars and sores and streaks of tears.
She is broken.
Lights will guide you home
And ignite your bones
And I will try to fix you.
He hears the slow grinding sound of metal grate sliding across stone. The boy is back. He hears footsteps. The boy is trying to be silent. There is another scrape, but this time it is the sound of silver cutting stone; a rrazor-blade.
His eyes are frozen, stuck on the limp form in his arms. There is a cut across her neck, made with the same precision as the cuts in the necks of the two bodies behind him, and the cuts in the necks of the people who went into dear old Mrs. Lovett’s meat pies.
Dear old Mrs. Lovett.
He can still hear her screams.
He can smell her burnt flesh.
Tears stream down your face
When you lose something you cannot replace
Tears stream down on your face
And I . . .
The boy is behind him. Out of the corner of his eye, he sees the glint of a blade; a razor-blade. His eyes are cast down to the figure in his arms. His fingers grace her cheek.
She is cold.
She is broken.
Tears stream down your face
I promise you I will learn from my mistakes
Tears stream down on your face
And I . . .
Red water, rubies, drip down his chest as the boy backs away. The song of the blade; a razorblade, lingers in the air. It rings over and over drowning out the sound of blood pouring into the sewer like Hell’s waterfall.
His eyes, now clouded, now loosing focus, are still staring down at her. He can still make out her features as the red water settles in a pool around them.
They are broken together.
Lights will guide you home
And ignite your bones
And I will try to fix you.
