Musings of the Opera Ghost

Alone, thought-sick, I've no place to hide from love.
And if Love be kind, why do I see her fangs?
And if cruel, why then o why is her poison so sweet?
And I turn my back on it once more...

I die of pain, yet swear no pain is there!
I build a thoughd bridges, all in vain!
I long to plead, and yet I fear to voice a breath,
And in ruin of all hope, I hope all things...
These the signs of love--my torment even unto death.