the light behind her eyes

[afabulouskilljoy]

Poison never uses an instrument on stage. He has the band of that, and he moves around too fucking much to be responsible for remembering to do more than sing. But at the moment he's in the park, sitting on a bench with an acoustic guitar, just sort of strumming away as he decides what he wants to do.

He owes her a concert, he knows that. A farewell. His girl is out there, somewhere, and she's fighting again, and surviving, and she deserves to be remembered for everything she was here. As he plays, he misses her like an ache. He sings, for her, for all of them.

"Be strong and hold my hand. Time, it comes for us, you’ll understand. We’ll say goodbye today, and I'm sorry how it ends this way. If you promise not to cry, then I’ll tell you just what I would say if I could be with you tonight, I would sing you to sleep. Never let them take the light behind your eyes. I’ll fail and lose this fight - never fade in the dark. Just remember you will always burn as bright."

He remembers how her little hands felt in his when she was a toddler, and he remembers how small she still was when she was all grown up. But she was so big inside - she is so big inside - that he knows she'll be alright.


The Song

Comments

[noldorinqueen]

"I'm sorry to hear that. There are so few songs here, and what music there is to be found is buried under the noise of these vehicles and all the rest," she says, gesturing around at the cityscape.

For a few moments, she's disappointed to find out that there is no ballad to accompany this strange persona. Then she shrugs slowly, as there is little else to do. With room on the bench, she takes a seat, and the juxtaposition between their appearances strikes her, resulting in a smile and slightly-concealed laughter. This, too, is brief, and followed by a question.

"Do you know some tales that can be sung? Or is that, too, not a custom here?"

[afabulouskilljoy]

"I think you just have to look in the right places for songs," Poison says as he looks down at his guitar. "I mean, I used to think the desert was nothing but heat and wind, but there was music there, too."

He looks over at the woman, who he's pretty sure is a freakin elf.

"The city has music. The noise is music, if you listen to it right. And yeah, I know some stories that can be sung. Uh, bear with me."

He considers a moment. It's been a while since he's heard the poem he's thinking of put the music, but he eventually figures out something to play, and sings:

"Willows whiten, aspens shiver. The sunbeam showers break and quiver in the stream that runneth ever by the island in the river flowing down to Camelot. Four gray walls, and four gray towers overlook a space of flowers, and the silent isle powers, the Lady of Shalott."