In the end, nothing really matters
The world’s a stage
Still waiting for a show
The monster is still chasing
What it’s after
With no concern of when or how you go

For it will find a new star to devour
Pick apart the bones left in the sand
Use you as a soundtrack for transition
Pull the rug from under where you stand

Once upon a stage, you stood there bleeding
Deep into a pit where monsters reign
Feeding all the vampires of the airways
Pieces of abuse laced with disdain

They hungered for an answer in your writings
Listening to the malice of your sound
Striking like a flash of killer lightning
Turning heads like records spinning round

Rattling the cages of the monster
Moshing in the madness of your mind
Pouring out your soul
As if the song would last forever
A love affair with fame is truly blind

Roaring at the mirror of his heartache
His words fly out like knives into deaf ears
The music is addictive as you chase that perfect high
The monster keeps you walking in thin air

Brass rings are for carousels and wishes
Chances pass you by while you’re asleep
Integrity is lost when compromising
Watering down the promises you keep

Angst and rage will only take you so far
Once your old, nobody really cares
The monster only wants you
As the lion you once were
A fact of life you never want to share

Confusion is the birthright to conformity
It kills the spirit as it steals your time
Leaving you with nothing
But a poor excuse for pain
A black bag full of words that never rhyme

The songs he sings are now the monster’s memories
Images it constantly rewinds
They fade into each other
Like some colors in a bowl
Bitter as the taste of lemon rinds

All his hurts disguised as mighty blessings
All his rage bursts forth when he is told
All his faith in words he’s second-guessing
It started when he signed away his soul

The promise that a star will burn forever
On paper, it was all so very clear
Your legacy will long survive your living
Your music will outlive your mortal tears

Now he’s wishing for a change of venue
Because his cup of life has turned up empty
The anger and abuse that he has been through
Can never feed the monster’s house of plenty

The power of the spoken word enchanted
No longer is a power he can give
And life inside the stars that he once wished on
Is life that he no longer wants to live

TM DiSarro
©2025 TM DiSarro/ MindScapes Publishing

Inspired by Chester Bennington
March 20, 1976 – July 20, 2017

From my book:
THE BUSHMAN

Photo: Pinterest

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