-Act Three: The auburn streets of Angel City.-
Neon heat! Kaleidoscope dreams!
Tenors and Baritones collaborate and bury wealth in their skulls!
House fire boys! House fire girls!
Stand up and shower napalm on our gasping bones.
“I am the Merchant!” “…and I, the Taxidermist!”
Cassius and Othello bear the names of our bloodlines.
Our muscles stuck in drive! Banquets that clamor through the night!
This is the anthemic call of the Hollow Stallions!
The Taxidermist: You and I, we’ve witnessed the orchards fuck,
And promise secrets with velvet noose tongues.
The Merchant: We’ve grown from whimpering embers to fell-fledged flames on a phoenix’s back!
We’re closer than brothers, but our blood demands less.
The Taxidermist: Along with Cedric, went my innocent fillings,
My head full of doves, and my wide-eyed soul.
“Othello” burns upon my conscience’s pyre,
And I began to stuff myself with faithless love, numbing substance, and revenge.
I am the Taxidermist!
The Merchant: “Cassius” one stood proud, brother to Cedric!
But since his departure, his birthright becomes my own.
What he left is mine to sell, including his feelings of dependence.
I sell with no remorse; duct-taped conscience mumbles tragedy.
I am the Merchant!
The Taxidermist: Timbre’s siren song blares through our banquets,
Mother wolf cries for her young!
The pup will never dance to her tune,
A Hollow Stallion is what he’s become!
The Merchant: Synthetic flowers blossom through our skulls,
And cheapened stargazes are our calling cards.
We’ve built an empire out of sulfur!
Our foundation is made of cocaine!
How can he ever compare?
Chorus: Hollow Stallions! The Hollow Stallions!
Burning in a city that dances in a frenzy!
-Timbre gazes out the window of her estate; “Cassandra Gemini” plays through a record player.-
The sway of pendulums has knocked a hypnotic stare into my wrists.
It seems my protagonist has a production beyond these valleys and cliffs.
These eight long years have brought me security and marital bliss,
But I still miss you.
If I put my palms out with love in the veins, I know you would cower.
A digital history keeps me from forgetting, each and every hour.
I’m sure the life surrounds you, and you embrace love in a shower,
But I still miss you.
Your strings sing to many, you can rely on fans to keep you warm.
The paper mache I gave you is so genuine; I know it keeps you from scorn.
You have spiders and swans to help nourish the bond that I’ve torn,
But I still miss you.
Under Carpenter Limbs, you were birthed and sang with doves,
And were given a gift and a promise to fulfill from the Lord up above.
Rest assured that through it all, you still have my love,
And I still miss you.
Please, come back to me.
-Back in The Orchards, at 3 A.M., Cedric is woken by a vision of the city on fire,
With his heart on top of a neon building, set ablaze as well.-
The Orchards! The Carpenter Limbs!
The Carpenter Limbs are calling out for me!
My Tulip Empire stands proud above the city,
Cackling at the settlers like a mountain on Novocain.
I have ambitions and I have dreams, as well.
And now my gift screams through my fucking ribcage!
“I douse myself in glycerin,
And shake and rattle ‘til my bones come clean!
Spinneret maracas with a viscous flow,
Tarantella dreams have crawled into my home!
I think I’m hearing voices of the ravenous dead,
‘Cause metronomes keep pounding laughter in the back of my head!
All that glitters in my home will rot,
And nicotine children wait in my fucking parking lot!
Shake! Shake! And rattle your bones!”
Strings are thrown into the skinned chariot,
The necessities and pleasures take a back seat.
I’m preparing to make love through a telephone wire,
But the digital age got a hold on me.
My chest becomes an X’d-out cloak,
Hopes into my car, and sets this production in motion.
Palm trees dance from the pulsating rhythm I’ve knocked into the streets.
Spastic cries from tires cloak us like foxes from crimes.
Oh look! My city, she dances for me!
The Tulip Empire will never know a better king.
I stop in front of an apartment,
Made from years of shaking hands.
I let the car scream a series of mating calls and sex impulses,
And sure enough, Tarantella comes out from her web.
She jumps inside a flaming chariot,
Sinks her fangs into my tongue.
The city aflame. The Carpenter Limbs.
The Empire will wait. We’re Hollow Stallions.
I know not what these dreams mean,
But I know better than to question them.
Tarantella, my queen, will always take her throne,
And right now, Angel City wants its empirical children back home.
We’ve learned and experienced everything we know together,
And now we have to get out of this city to learn more.
It was the dream that broke the wolf’s back.
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