Keep the Faith
In Chemically Romantic Words
A stage looking over a crowd of thousands. Words and notes filling the air, coupling wildly with screams of admiration, of pure love. The screams drown each other out. The words rise to the heavens, plunge into hell and back…the words come alive. More than anything, the words come alive. And every sentence is a story; every sentence whispers its own name. And each lyric, sung to its loudest, holiest, purest, reaches into the imagination of the crowd. Every member of the crowd pictures the trembling pen to match the roaring voice of five.
There’s a liar, somewhere in the Old West. He took a loan from the mafia and they chase him. He grabs his lover, kisses her with just one more lie. But she doesn’t notice, does she? That girl’s not right in the brain. Silently, they sneak into the church and close themselves in a mahogany coffin. Gunmen run in after them and a mourning choir breaks away in fear, the hymns of departure lost in midair. And so Juliet leaves her Romeo dying in the desert, fading to black in his eyes. But the crowd looks back. They dare not look away. Somewhere in the world, a teenager stares at the speakers of his stereo. The story captures him and he dares not look away. Sometimes, words are too much to be just words.
You sing the words and we know what it means.
The crowd is still listening through the cheers, the cheers of the sweetest revenge they’ve ever known. When they weren’t okay, they lived and breathed through the words of a chemical romance, waiting for their chance at revenge. And happiness is the sweetest revenge of all because every member of the crowd and every boy and girl in their bedroom once was or is chased and beaten down. Every single one is or was a “hobbit”, accustomed to being inside lockers, curious, afraid, and used. And all they ever wanted, all we ever wanted was honesty. The honesty found in the words of a chemical romance, giving birth to a new faith and inspiration.
Fists in the air, signs waving…Keep the Faith.
And from the middle of a thrashing audience, from the holes in the speakers, they can see your eyes are shining bright. They can see fingers running swiftly back and forth across the frets, angel and metallic, words without words. They can see a wild forest of hair moving up and down to rhythm with the music. And somehow, we see the music.
The clearest screams we’ll ever hear.
Five men make us see. Because of you, the crowd has a fucking reason to believe! They gave away their poison, put away the pills, handed you their broken hearts to mend and they will wait with hope on their lips until the end of time! Because five men have a cause to lead, they have love to give. A crowd sees no criminals, only poets. Mending broken hearts like surgeons. Like doctors. And listening with their eyes closed, with their ears open, with their souls bursting into a thousand pieces with the unbearable feeling of it all, the doctors make them.
You make us. Did you know?
Do you know now? Do you know who you are? Five men onstage have no right to be human beings. Human beings have no right to claim them. Angels. Angels of the crowd, saviors of the damned, chosen by the world. The crowd roars with heartache. Throats are hoarse from screaming. Hazel eyes screaming at millions of anonymous ones, bodies swaying back and forth are merging into one another. On stage, wrists -- broken and bleeding and scarred—determinedly pound out rhythm, desperate to keep the song alive. To keep the crowd alive.
The crowd now is full of pounding hearts, pounding to time with yours. And when your hearts stop beating, they’ll be there waiting for you. They’ll all come, all to bid you goodbye and all to miss you with every ounce of being they’ve got! Make up washed away with tears and despair, black dresses soaked with the love of a chemical romance. Not My Chemical Romance. Not Your Chemical Romance. Theirs. Look! You’re everyone’s now! It’s everyone’s!
No no no. The words, the song, the notes filling up the air…it’s something. They’re not just sad songs; they’ve got something to say. And long after every closing note, the message is still heard, still carried through hearts and minds. Did you know?
I bet you know more than you know.
The curtain is closing. The songs end. The stage is flooded with sweat and the labor of joy. And the crowd…every person in the crowd wants just one more song. Just one more song. Goodbyes are absorbed, breathed in with an insatiable passion. But the crowd spares you this one bit of sorrow; they know when they’ve taken too much from you. Do they?
You will fly. And you’ll never let them fall.
There’s a liar, somewhere in the Old West. He took a loan from the mafia and they chase him. He grabs his lover, kisses her with just one more lie. But she doesn’t notice, does she? That girl’s not right in the brain. Silently, they sneak into the church and close themselves in a mahogany coffin. Gunmen run in after them and a mourning choir breaks away in fear, the hymns of departure lost in midair. And so Juliet leaves her Romeo dying in the desert, fading to black in his eyes. But the crowd looks back. They dare not look away. Somewhere in the world, a teenager stares at the speakers of his stereo. The story captures him and he dares not look away. Sometimes, words are too much to be just words.
You sing the words and we know what it means.
The crowd is still listening through the cheers, the cheers of the sweetest revenge they’ve ever known. When they weren’t okay, they lived and breathed through the words of a chemical romance, waiting for their chance at revenge. And happiness is the sweetest revenge of all because every member of the crowd and every boy and girl in their bedroom once was or is chased and beaten down. Every single one is or was a “hobbit”, accustomed to being inside lockers, curious, afraid, and used. And all they ever wanted, all we ever wanted was honesty. The honesty found in the words of a chemical romance, giving birth to a new faith and inspiration.
Fists in the air, signs waving…Keep the Faith.
And from the middle of a thrashing audience, from the holes in the speakers, they can see your eyes are shining bright. They can see fingers running swiftly back and forth across the frets, angel and metallic, words without words. They can see a wild forest of hair moving up and down to rhythm with the music. And somehow, we see the music.
The clearest screams we’ll ever hear.
Five men make us see. Because of you, the crowd has a fucking reason to believe! They gave away their poison, put away the pills, handed you their broken hearts to mend and they will wait with hope on their lips until the end of time! Because five men have a cause to lead, they have love to give. A crowd sees no criminals, only poets. Mending broken hearts like surgeons. Like doctors. And listening with their eyes closed, with their ears open, with their souls bursting into a thousand pieces with the unbearable feeling of it all, the doctors make them.
You make us. Did you know?
Do you know now? Do you know who you are? Five men onstage have no right to be human beings. Human beings have no right to claim them. Angels. Angels of the crowd, saviors of the damned, chosen by the world. The crowd roars with heartache. Throats are hoarse from screaming. Hazel eyes screaming at millions of anonymous ones, bodies swaying back and forth are merging into one another. On stage, wrists -- broken and bleeding and scarred—determinedly pound out rhythm, desperate to keep the song alive. To keep the crowd alive.
The crowd now is full of pounding hearts, pounding to time with yours. And when your hearts stop beating, they’ll be there waiting for you. They’ll all come, all to bid you goodbye and all to miss you with every ounce of being they’ve got! Make up washed away with tears and despair, black dresses soaked with the love of a chemical romance. Not My Chemical Romance. Not Your Chemical Romance. Theirs. Look! You’re everyone’s now! It’s everyone’s!
No no no. The words, the song, the notes filling up the air…it’s something. They’re not just sad songs; they’ve got something to say. And long after every closing note, the message is still heard, still carried through hearts and minds. Did you know?
I bet you know more than you know.
The curtain is closing. The songs end. The stage is flooded with sweat and the labor of joy. And the crowd…every person in the crowd wants just one more song. Just one more song. Goodbyes are absorbed, breathed in with an insatiable passion. But the crowd spares you this one bit of sorrow; they know when they’ve taken too much from you. Do they?
You will fly. And you’ll never let them fall.