Symphony for a Dying Star

[The Weaver - his voice enters, a flawless, multi-octave instrument, starting low and rich, full of power and grace] I weave the light of newborn suns Where silent, cosmic sorrow runs I sing the code for gravity's embrace And give each lonely star its place My voice, a thread of silver flame To mend the worlds that cry in pain To heal the scars, to make it whole The perfect music of the soul! [The Cynic - his voice is a calm, nasal, satirical baritone, speaking with rhythmic precision] That's very nice, a pretty sound For all the simpletons around You're singing 'bout the birth of stars While Kevin from accounting's parked his car On a double-yellow line, you see He's worried 'bout a late-return fee From the public library... For a book on how to build a deck... What a schmuck. [The Weaver - his voice climbs higher, more desperate and powerful, trying to overpower the noise] I SING OF FATE! AND DESTINY! A LOVE FOR ALL ETERNITY! A SACRED, BURNING, FINAL TRUTH! THE INNOCENCE OF STARRY YOUTH! [The Cynic - cutting him off with another blast of jarring jazz-rock] And Brenda from Human Resources Is taking online business courses She thinks her boss is a real tool And broke the coffee maker near the pool Of existential dread and cheap caffeine The most depressing little scene You've ever witnessed in your life (And she's cheating on her husband with his wife's... brother.) [The Cynic - spoken] Okay, fellas, take it away. Let's see some pyrotechnics.