Perfume: The story of a murderer

[Intro] (born in the reek...) (no smell...) (the thief of souls...) [Verse 1] Born in Paris. Fetid pit. Fish-guts steamed beneath the dawn. Alleys rose like guilty prayers. Stink was all the city’s song. I came into the world without a scent — no mark, no trace, no human claim. A hungry mouth in slaughterhouse light, one darkened gift. One nose. One aim. Madame Gaillard’s orphan house. Hate hissed in plaster, sour and alive. I learned the city through its vapors, through rot and grime to survive. [Pre-Chorus] Men shut their eyes. Not their nostrils. Not their need. Scent is brother to the breath. And I was made... to follow that lead! (back off...) [Chorus] Not with the eyes — but with the nose! “Men may shut their eyes to splendor, to horror, to beauty’s rose,” But perfumes pass through every prison of the mind and heart and will! (breathe!) The hidden beats inside the chest, and what you breathe becomes a thrill! What you crave becomes your ruin from the very first faint spark! (scent!) Not with the eyes — but with the nose! I wanted essence, that elusive flame, the soul of flesh in air! [Verse 2] Baldini’s shop. Old glass, old formulas. I gave him one perfect note. Ruin opened into wonder. A brittle bloom that rose and smote. Then Grasse. Jasmine. Orange flower. Rose. One by one, plucked, pressed, crushed. Distilled beneath the thunder’s blows. Beneath the iron sky. Beneath the night’s metallic sneer. Not love. Not grace. Composition. Control. A living odor, cold as a blade. Bright as a lie, exact as a bell. A polished poison, perfect art. A role so pure it almost swelled... to hell! [Bridge] At last — the scaffold. At last — the crowd. And then the power of perfumes: hands fell limp. mouths cried out. Their fury broke in reverence! Hard hearts bent without a sound. They swallowed up their own delight! Breathe! [Final Chorus] Not with the eyes — but with the nose! “Men may shut their eyes,” but perfumes enter still, inevitable, vast! (scent!) Relentless, merciless, unspent, and nothing human makes them pass! I made myself invisible, I made myself desired! (breathe!) And what they called love became a hunger in the square — raw, animal, inspired! “Perfume is the brother of breath,” and i gave them breath enough to die for me! Not with the eyes — but with the nose! [Outro] And then there was nothing left. No name. No love. No self. No trace. Only a man without a scent, lost in the air he ruled... with grace.