The Choice

Here in this strange city,
where the deaf play the music,
the blind carry the torches,
what choice did he have, than to be mute tonight
and let the symphony within rip him apart
to be reborn or to be lost in anonymity
The city had all the faces, the hearts to pray for,
the hazy caricatures and smoky existences,
He had but himself to bear with,
he chose but himself to sing to.