Gallery

The day I fill my gallery I'll don a thorny crown,

And strike a pose mid-stage under the light;

And there I'll stand as still as stone, awaiting audience,

To take its seats, my captives for the night;

I'll linger long ere I begin my sharp soliloquy;

Each gaze I'll meet 'til I espy its guilt,

Then, satisfied that I'm their lamb, I'll softly clear my throat,

And murmur low as I begin my lilt;

And everyone who wronged me will be seated square before,

And mutely will endure my free acquittal;

Each sin they've done against me will be aired and thrown away;

A tear, a kiss, a saw upon the fiddle;

And then I'll open up the pipes and sing aloud my pain;

 I'll bear my burdened soul to every sight;

And when I'm sure they're all secure in how they've brought me low,

I'll cut my throat and bid them all "Good night!"