| |
|
|
|
| |
|
|
|
| |
Theater
Pop/Ballad • Lyricist: Monica Bergo
|
|
|
| |
|
|
|
| |
Instrumentation |
Piano |
Type of score |
Piano score |
Publisher |
Monica Bergo |
Language |
Italian |
Music and song composed by me
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=IZzhfKjIHTY
THEATER
If you want to transform your reality
If you want another life
The theater is here
Choose the character
That you will interpret
Follow your script
and you won't go wrong
A blue curtain
The lights go down
And the music begins
An ox eye
That will light up
The scene lights up
Behind the scenes me
I'm waiting for my turn
The legs tremble
Increase the beat
People in the audience
It is silent
And wait to live
The story you will tell him
And anything is possible
I grab the moment
I do my best
There is rhythm, there is energy
There is determination, there is joy
Here everything is fake but there is truth
And fate here, nothing will
Because the story already has its plot and its ending
We will embody here
Vices and virtues
In the comedy you will get lost
You will breathe with us
The magic that's here tonight
Live in this atmosphere
Trash is a little surreal
It will involve you
With its cardboard trees, canvas buildings
Papier-mache skies, foil lakes
Tears drawn on blood-red cheeks
Imperfect moons and sun that does not shine
My life is all a theater
I play multiple roles
In prose or poetry
We are all actors
In this reality
Browse your script
It will surprise you
The show is over
I will bow it for you
Applause and music
A moment and I already find my self
The usual Monica
I feel a bit like a Pierrot
Between joy and tears
But it went well and then tomorrow replies
Live more lives to never die
Sweet illusion that will rock me
And will accompany me
Even out of this scene
If I act well you will know
Unsuspected sides of me
I will be nice
Or arrogant and bad
A witch or diva
Once upon a time heroine
Who will I be?
and as Pirandello wrote
I am nobody and a hundred thousand
I interpret myself
And it's never "good first"
I'm not convincing in my run-down shoes
And I change the lines
Of my days a little disbanded
theater of the absurd
turns into a silent film
and cry without voice
in my desolate stage ...
If you are looking for an identity
of an interruption of reality
write your script or you'll improvise
get on that stage and you will be what you want ...
|
|
|
| |
|
|
|
| |
|
|
| |
|
|
|