Here it comes! Sound the drums, here it is!
I recommend to read it first and then see/listen to the video, since the written version is slightly different.
Thanks to:
Poe's Coats Host Toast, for reading this first track and doing it so wonderfully, and also for correcting some stuff!
Freddie Mercury and Queen in general, for singing the chorus, playing the music and generously letting me use it for my noble purposes.
1. Death on two legs (dedicated to…)
The theater was empty except for twelve of my associates and I, each of us standing in different positions, some dressed for the opera, some dressed to kill, but none of us dressed for what finally happened that evening.
I stood in the center of everything, like a main character, with big stains of blood in my shirt, a dead body by my side and a harpoon in my hand. All four predictions L. wrote in that night’s opera booklet came true: two good friends fought to death, three people died by accident, a secret marriage took place and a noble person hid for a long, long time.
“This is tragic” I said with a trembling voice, breaking the fragile stillness and, unconsciously, turning myself into the antagonist. “Our lives have changed forever tonight. Don’t you see? It’s the end. It’s… It’s over”
Suddenly, one by one, like domino pieces, all the people around me started falling. They opened their eyes and then screamed and cried. They finally understood, but they understood it all wrong.
“You sucked his blood with the leeches!” screamed B. astonished, looking at me, holding an old picture of her brother.
“You broke the law and you preach!” cried J., pointing his finger accusingly. He didn’t understand, none of them did.
“Screw my brain till it hurts!” said B., disappointed and sad. Did he really thought I made it on purpose?
“You’ve taken all our money and you want more!” exclaimed P. and F. holding one another in an attempt of not falling to the ground but failing resoundingly.
Slowly, the twelve of them started to surround me. I didn’t understand what was happening. I could feel the anger they felt striking me, an unfair anger, making me responsible of all the crimes other people (included themselves) committed. I tried to talk, and nothing but a wheezy squawk came out of my throat.
“Death on two legs! You never had a heart of your own!”
“Killer, bad guy, insane man, treacherous” one by one they started to get closer, throwing accusations like poison darts.
“You’re just a lie after all” D. sighed, watching me with despair.
“Have you found a new toy to replace me? Can you face me?” E. cried with her eyes full of tears and her hand ready to slap me.
“Well, now you can kiss my ass goodbye” B. whispered, full of hate, closer than anyone. With a strong shove, the person I thought was my best friend made me fell in the puddle of blood of my own father. I could feel his dead hand touching my neck, like trying to comfort me, assuring me everything would be okay.
“Feel good? Are you satisfied? Do you feel like suicide?” F. shouted coldly.
“Is your conscience all right? Does it plague you at night?” K. said, safe in D.’s arms, protected from me.
“Do you feel good? Feel good!”
Of course I didn’t feel good. My face burned in shame and sadness, and I still couldn’t talk. My obsession with helping everyone caused the death of many volunteers, even my family, and I was the only one to blame. I wished I could change everything, to erase the thirst of revenge I felt and theirs as well, but I couldn’t. I was humiliated, hurt … I was nothing. Or even worse, I was anything but good.
Someone grabbed me from behind and put me on my feet again. I got rid of the hand, feeling it was the dead one that touched me before, and by doing so I covered with blood the white dress of the woman who helped me. She smiled anyway, like if she liked the new red design, and I saw her and four others were waiting for me, saving me, trusting me. She grabbed me again, a minute before the lights went off, and took me out of there.
When I felt the fresh air from outside I finally let the anger flow out of me. (Death on two legs!) It was never about what’s right or what’s wrong: the only thing that mattered was to find somebody to blame, and sadly, that somebody was me. (Death on two legs!) Nobody thought of my loss, my pain, my dreams, my feelings. They only needed a villain, and they got one.
“Insane should be put inside, you're a sewer rat decaying in a cesspool of pride. Should be made unemployed, then make yourself null and void”
I could still hear them inside, insulting my name, forgetting every good thing I did, when the electrical installation collapsed and the fire started. I didn't care if they live or die. It was not the end, after all, it was nothing but the beginning: a bad beginning. Laughing and crying at the same time, I screamed:
“I feel good!”