Quasimodo
Posted: 16 Apr 2019, 22:45
V5:
Quasimodo
Taunts are hurled like stones
by boys and drunks. I duck many
because I'm stone deaf--from ringing bells.
People think that I'm dumb
when I don't respond, but I have
always known where to find peace.
The cathedral. Its walls of stone.
There the world's confusion calms,
as inevitably as a stirred drink settles.
Or it did before I carried Esmeralda
off to the belfry,
rescuing her from the gallows.
"Sanctuary! Sanctuary!" I shouted
to the pack of dogs below.
But even when I bring her an extra
blanket, a second cup of soup
she can't help turning away
seeing my deformity.
Why wouldn't Esmeralda
fall for the pretty Captain Phoebus?
A dried creek bed isn't as shallow
as that ass. Who said the world's just?
I could bring apples in winter
to Esmeralda, the finest wines
from the Archdeacon's collection
and still my kindness
could not compete
with Phoebus’ flawless skin.
Against all logic my heart’s barricades
are overthrown by her presence.
Yet I remind myself over and over,
as if repeating a vow,
that it’s enough being near her.
Why do I lie to myself?
I will always be a leper
without a colony.
V4:
Quasimodo
Taunts are hurled like stones
by boys and drunks. I duck many
because I'm stone deaf--from ringing bells.
People think that I'm dumb
when I don't respond, but I have
always known where to find peace.
The cathedral. Its walls of stone.
There the world's confusion
and cruelty calms, as inevitably
as a stirred drink settles.
Or it did before I carried Esmeralda
off to the belfry,
rescuing her from the gallows.
"Sanctuary! Sanctuary!" I shouted
to the pack of dogs below.
But even when I bring her an extra
blanket, a second cup of soup
she can't help turning away
seeing my deformity.
Why wouldn't Esmeralda fall
for the pretty Captain Phoebus?
A dried creek bed isn't as shallow
as that ass. Who said the world's just?
I could bring apples in winter
to Esmeralda, the finest wines
from the Archdeacon's collection
and still my kindness
could not compete
with Phoebus’ flawless skin.
Against all logic my heart’s
barricades are overthrown
by her presence.
Yet I remind myself over and over,
as if repeating a vow,
that it’s enough being near her.
Why do I lie to myself?
I will always be a leper
without a colony.
V3:
Quasimodo
Within these cathedral's walls
the crowd’s hatred
calms, as inevitably
as a stirred drink settles.
Or it did before I carried Esmeralda
off to the belfry,
rescuing her from the gallows.
"Sanctuary! Sanctuary!" I shouted
to the pack of dogs below.
But even when I bring her an extra
blanket, a second cup of soup
she can't help turning away
seeing my deformity.
Why wouldn't Esmeralda fall
for the pretty Captain Phoebus?
A dried creek bed isn't as shallow
as that ass. Who said the world's just?
I could bring apples in winter
to Esmeralda, the finest wines
from the Archdeacon's collection,
and still my kindness
could not compete
with Phoebus’ flawless skin.
Against all logic my heart’s
barricades are overthrown
by her presence.
Yet I remind myself over and over,
as if repeating a vow,
that it’s enough being near her.
Why do I lie to myself?
I will always be a leper
without a colony.
V2:
Quasimodo
Within these stone walls
the world's confusion and cruelty
calms, as inevitably
as a stirred drink settles.
Or it did before I carried Esmeralda
off to Notre Dame's heights,
rescuing her from the gallows.
"Sanctuary! Sanctuary!" I shouted
to the angry pack of dogs below.
But even when I bring her an extra
blanket, a second cup of soup
she can't hide her disgust
at my deformity.
Why wouldn't Esmeralda fall
for the pretty Captain Phoebus?
A dried creek bed isn't as shallow
as that ass. Who said the world's just?
I could bring apples in winter
to Esmeralda, the finest wines
from the Archdeacon's collection,
and still I would be Quasimodo,
hunchback--my future
a dirty bed of straw.
I am a leper without a colony,
and yet my heart goes crazy
just being near her--
but I'm no fool. Lonely, I can never
fly to her, the distance
between us too great for an ugly
pigeon with clipped
wings.
V1:
Quasimodo
Taunts are hurled like stones
by boys and drunks. I duck many
because I'm stone deaf--from ringing bells.
People think that I'm dumb
when I don't respond, but I have
always known where to find peace.
The cathedral. Its walls of stone.
There the world's confusion
and cruelty calms, as inevitably
as a stirred drink settles.
Or it did before I carried Esmeralda
off to Notre Dame's heights,
rescuing her from the gallows.
"Sanctuary! Sanctuary!" I shouted
to the angry pack of dogs below.
But even when I bring her an extra
blanket, a second cup of soup
she can't hide her disgust
at my deformity.
How must I look to her? One side
of my face swollen,
my left eye squeezed shut
like a closed fist?
Why wouldn't a woman flinch
even as she accepts my gifts?
Why wouldn't Esmeralda fall
for the pretty Captain Phoebus?
A dried creek bed isn't as shallow
as that ass. Who said the world's just?
I could bring apples in winter
to Esmeralda, the finest wines
from the Archdeacon's collection,
and still I would be Quasimodo,
hunchback--my future a dirty bed of straw
shared with no one but lice.
I am a leper without a colony,
and yet my heart goes crazy
just being near her--
but I'm no fool. Lonely, I can never
fly to her, the distance
between us too great for an ugly
pigeon with clipped
wings.
Quasimodo
Taunts are hurled like stones
by boys and drunks. I duck many
because I'm stone deaf--from ringing bells.
People think that I'm dumb
when I don't respond, but I have
always known where to find peace.
The cathedral. Its walls of stone.
There the world's confusion calms,
as inevitably as a stirred drink settles.
Or it did before I carried Esmeralda
off to the belfry,
rescuing her from the gallows.
"Sanctuary! Sanctuary!" I shouted
to the pack of dogs below.
But even when I bring her an extra
blanket, a second cup of soup
she can't help turning away
seeing my deformity.
Why wouldn't Esmeralda
fall for the pretty Captain Phoebus?
A dried creek bed isn't as shallow
as that ass. Who said the world's just?
I could bring apples in winter
to Esmeralda, the finest wines
from the Archdeacon's collection
and still my kindness
could not compete
with Phoebus’ flawless skin.
Against all logic my heart’s barricades
are overthrown by her presence.
Yet I remind myself over and over,
as if repeating a vow,
that it’s enough being near her.
Why do I lie to myself?
I will always be a leper
without a colony.
V4:
Quasimodo
Taunts are hurled like stones
by boys and drunks. I duck many
because I'm stone deaf--from ringing bells.
People think that I'm dumb
when I don't respond, but I have
always known where to find peace.
The cathedral. Its walls of stone.
There the world's confusion
and cruelty calms, as inevitably
as a stirred drink settles.
Or it did before I carried Esmeralda
off to the belfry,
rescuing her from the gallows.
"Sanctuary! Sanctuary!" I shouted
to the pack of dogs below.
But even when I bring her an extra
blanket, a second cup of soup
she can't help turning away
seeing my deformity.
Why wouldn't Esmeralda fall
for the pretty Captain Phoebus?
A dried creek bed isn't as shallow
as that ass. Who said the world's just?
I could bring apples in winter
to Esmeralda, the finest wines
from the Archdeacon's collection
and still my kindness
could not compete
with Phoebus’ flawless skin.
Against all logic my heart’s
barricades are overthrown
by her presence.
Yet I remind myself over and over,
as if repeating a vow,
that it’s enough being near her.
Why do I lie to myself?
I will always be a leper
without a colony.
V3:
Quasimodo
Within these cathedral's walls
the crowd’s hatred
calms, as inevitably
as a stirred drink settles.
Or it did before I carried Esmeralda
off to the belfry,
rescuing her from the gallows.
"Sanctuary! Sanctuary!" I shouted
to the pack of dogs below.
But even when I bring her an extra
blanket, a second cup of soup
she can't help turning away
seeing my deformity.
Why wouldn't Esmeralda fall
for the pretty Captain Phoebus?
A dried creek bed isn't as shallow
as that ass. Who said the world's just?
I could bring apples in winter
to Esmeralda, the finest wines
from the Archdeacon's collection,
and still my kindness
could not compete
with Phoebus’ flawless skin.
Against all logic my heart’s
barricades are overthrown
by her presence.
Yet I remind myself over and over,
as if repeating a vow,
that it’s enough being near her.
Why do I lie to myself?
I will always be a leper
without a colony.
V2:
Quasimodo
Within these stone walls
the world's confusion and cruelty
calms, as inevitably
as a stirred drink settles.
Or it did before I carried Esmeralda
off to Notre Dame's heights,
rescuing her from the gallows.
"Sanctuary! Sanctuary!" I shouted
to the angry pack of dogs below.
But even when I bring her an extra
blanket, a second cup of soup
she can't hide her disgust
at my deformity.
Why wouldn't Esmeralda fall
for the pretty Captain Phoebus?
A dried creek bed isn't as shallow
as that ass. Who said the world's just?
I could bring apples in winter
to Esmeralda, the finest wines
from the Archdeacon's collection,
and still I would be Quasimodo,
hunchback--my future
a dirty bed of straw.
I am a leper without a colony,
and yet my heart goes crazy
just being near her--
but I'm no fool. Lonely, I can never
fly to her, the distance
between us too great for an ugly
pigeon with clipped
wings.
V1:
Quasimodo
Taunts are hurled like stones
by boys and drunks. I duck many
because I'm stone deaf--from ringing bells.
People think that I'm dumb
when I don't respond, but I have
always known where to find peace.
The cathedral. Its walls of stone.
There the world's confusion
and cruelty calms, as inevitably
as a stirred drink settles.
Or it did before I carried Esmeralda
off to Notre Dame's heights,
rescuing her from the gallows.
"Sanctuary! Sanctuary!" I shouted
to the angry pack of dogs below.
But even when I bring her an extra
blanket, a second cup of soup
she can't hide her disgust
at my deformity.
How must I look to her? One side
of my face swollen,
my left eye squeezed shut
like a closed fist?
Why wouldn't a woman flinch
even as she accepts my gifts?
Why wouldn't Esmeralda fall
for the pretty Captain Phoebus?
A dried creek bed isn't as shallow
as that ass. Who said the world's just?
I could bring apples in winter
to Esmeralda, the finest wines
from the Archdeacon's collection,
and still I would be Quasimodo,
hunchback--my future a dirty bed of straw
shared with no one but lice.
I am a leper without a colony,
and yet my heart goes crazy
just being near her--
but I'm no fool. Lonely, I can never
fly to her, the distance
between us too great for an ugly
pigeon with clipped
wings.