Act II: In prison

IN COURT, CLOSE THE CASE

Narrator:

The price he had to pay, a trial;
maltreatments weren’t enough to exempt him.
In court, close the case.

His mother made her statement and no one could judge
if she was defending or accusing him,
In court, close the case.

He stood up, his hands cuffed,
and the cold iron reminded him of
that very second when good and evil merged,
like many other heroes did.

Walking down the aisle,
no one was to be heard.
What would I have done if I were him?
They crossed the street
and locked him up in the van,
alone, sad and convicted
on his way to prison.

The day after on the newspapers
headline was: “Hero or murderer?”.
Everyone had a say,
too much rattle in the morning shows.

Tertullian 1:

He’s just a little boy, let him be free!

Tertullian 2:

But that’s justice: he is a murderer and there’s a price to pay.

Tertullian 3:

The culprit is his father, though.

Tertullian 4:

More men like him should die.

Tertullians:

Bla, bla, bla, bla
Bla, bla, bla, bla

Narrator:

Two weeks will go by
and no one will have a second thought.
It doesn’t matter anymore, his case is not on the news now,
but he will be there.
In court, close the case.

IN PRISON

Narrator:

You considered yourself a fair man,
justifying the murder.
He lies now six feet under,
yet you will end up even deeper.

Handcuffed in the van,
you’re almost there, you see the walls.
Amongst these cypresses
you’re going to serve your sentence.

Hey! Hey! No one will rescue you in here.
Hey! Hey! Forget the outside world, forget the rules.
Hey! Hey! All you learnt is useless now.
Hey! Hey!! Like a caged bird, as loud as you can shout out,
no one will rescue you in here.

Bashes will show you
now more than ever you need to be alive.
Welcome to New Sodoma,
sins make a winner of you.

What are you staring at?
A fight is about to break out,
bite or be bitten,
there’s no going back.

Hey! Hey! No one will rescue you in here.
Hey! Hey! Forget the outside world, forget the rules.
Hey! Hey! The fairest, the strongest, that’s the lesson you will learn.
Hey! Hey!! When everything seems to come to an end,
the police will hurt you,
will hurt you,
will hurt you the hardest.

THE CONSCIENCE (A DARK HOLE)

Narrator:

Darkness. Four walls and a faint light illuminating the cell while you read old books, alone. Books, your only companionship. You wish they were… For there is someone else with you, even if you don’t want to admit it. Can you bear his presence? Can you bear the voice of your consciousness?

PICTURES

Boy:

I can’t handle this anymore!
Why?
I had to do it!
Get out of here!

I can resist the shadows of the bars and the walls in the cell,
I can be insulted and tortured in this criminal well,
but I can’t bear this voice, burning inside me
and carving a coffin out of my bed.

It was the right thing to do!
If I hadn’t killed him,
we would be mourning
for my mother now.

I remember old pictures and photographs,
forgotten moments that now seem part of another life.
A bike, the smell of popcorn in the cinema,
he would lift my spirits when an ice cream melted
and seeing the world from the sky hoisted on top of his shoulders
he promised me he would always be there.

Always there…

Mom was happy.
When he would look at her
nothing else mattered.
She loved him.

Voices:

You killed him!

Boy:

I did it for mom’s sake!

Voices:

You killed him!

Boy:

Get out of here!!!

Voices:

You killed him… You killed him…

Boy:

On her face she had the scar of the wedding ring
her husband wore since the day he swore
he would be with her forever, he would protect her
but how could she be protected when she was dying poisoned?

Her pain
was stronger than me.
It was the only way out,
It was the only choice.

Voices:

Killer! Killer!

Boy:

No, no, no, it was my only choice…

And mom will be happy again
the day I get out of here.

WHERE IS THE LIGHT?

Boy:

Where is the light?
Where is the light?
Where is the light?
Where is it?

Aaah… Aaah…

Where is the light?
Where is the light?
Where is the light?
Where is it?

A LETTER TO MY DEEPEST MEMORIES

Boy:

Hey, who can give me some ounces of hope?
Hey, if you don’t hear me
maybe it’s because I’m crying.
My hands are burning,
the devil hides inside.
I will light a fire
in the deepest well
of my fears
and I will burn down
all my inner dead feelings.

A letter to my deepest memories.

My only hope is that all I wrote will burn someday
to take away all the things I can’t be
and a phoenix will hatch from the fire and will take me with him,
stretching its wings and his soul on fire.

And mom will be happy again
the day I get out of here.

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