Life Is A Tragedy, One Way Or

How Can So Much Beauty Hide Such A Bruised And Steely Heart, And Why Must I Love Him, Why Must I Lean In My Weariness Upon His Irresistible Yet Indomitable Strength? Is He Not The Wizend Funeral Spirit Of A Dead Man In A Child's Clothes?

What If I Could Give You Your Life Back; Pluck Out The Pain; And Give You A World Of Unimaginable Beauty That Would Be For All Time.

Perhaps I Fear Him Because I Could Love Him Again, And In Loving Him, I Would Come To Need Him, And In Needing Him, I Would Again Be His Faithful Pupil In All Things, Only To Discover That His Patience For Me Is No Substitute For The Passion Which Long Ago Blazed In His Eyes.

… In The Relentless And Meaningless Manner One Searches For Something In A Nightmare, Coming On Doors That Won’t Open Or Drawers That Won’t Shut, Struggling Over And Over Against The Same Meaningless Thing, Not Knowing Why The Effort Seems So Desperate, Why The Sudden Sight Of A Chair With A Shawl Thrown Over It Inspires The Mind With Horror.

I Am Not Times Fool, Nor A God Hardened By The Millennia; I Am Not The Trickster In The Black Cape Nor The Sorrowful Wanderer. I Have A Conscience. I Know Right From Wrong I Know What I Do And Yes, I Do It. I Am The Vampire Lestat. That's Your Answer Do With It As You Will.