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| Somewhere beneath the starlit skies, and the glow of pale moonlight... a ballerina dances to the music of the night. She dances with the shadows to music no one hears, ghostly in her movements, her eyes kissed closed with tears. Sometimes she stops abruptly, and buckles down in pain, uncertain of her steps, she dares to try again. An angel watches closely, unsure what he can do, for this little ballerina, whose soul is torn in two. And so, he simply watches, that his presence may be known, like a beacon in the darkness, so she never feels alone. On and on she dances, this eerie, ghostly sight... the only eyes upon her, the Angel of the Night. |
| While others dance to music, she moves to an angel's tune; she is the shadow dancer, her stage lit by the moon. Lost in balletic sonnets, where word flows into word... she pirouettes the catacombs of songs that went unheard. Don't try to interrupt her, or intrude upon her space-- there is no room for strangers, in this sacred dancing place. |
| The girl goes dancing there, On the leaf-sown, new-mown lawn, Grass plot of the garden; Esacaped from bitter youth, Escaped out of her crowd, Or out of her black cloud. Ah, dancer. Ah, sweet dancer. If strange men come from the house, To lead her away, do not say, That she is happy being crazy; Simply lead them gently astray, And let her finish her dance... Let her finish her dance. Ah, dancer. Ah, sweet dancer. -William Butler Yeats |
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| Pianissimo Aria |