Act I.
The Gravedigger’s shovel hits the dirt
The tip of his blade lingers on the surface
Here lies the last of the unpierced soil
He begs for the strength to refuse his work
To reject his function, to forfeit his design
He will not dig, he will not defile.
Or so it goes (in his dreams)
And so it has gone (it has gone)
And so it will go (so he will dig).
He casts his eyes
Towards the scorched horizon
An unearthly lightning splits the sky
A sick-black angel’s breath
Creeps towards the stars
Its ghostly fingers pull down
A torch of mass-produced fire
And below its bitter light
The Gravedigger digs the graves
For all mankind.
Or so it goes (in his dreams)
And so it has gone (it has gone)
And so it will go (so he will dig).
Act II.
He pushes his shovel into the ground
Around him blare the trumpets of doom
Blood runs from his hands
The spade stained red
Self-hate made manifest
To find purpose in burying the dead
“Why?” He cries, “Why end this life?”
“Why bury innocence under an ocean of dirt?”
Behind him sounds a sinister song
A poisonous whisper
An answer from the stars
He turns to face what he knows is there
She who commands his work
The many-armed siren; angel of history
A body of smoke, floating above the ground
“You have done this!” He declares
“You have made them this way!
You have made it so!”
"A grotesque ballet
A play staged by choice
There is no innocence here
No purity among men
Squandered gifts
Turned violence to virtue
Tools of creation
Repurposed for hate."
Act III.
He stands defiant in the angel’s radiant flames
“The illusion of choice; choices made from a cage
Have you ever seen anything such as this?
The power, the beauty, the love?
Offer them another chance!
Free the potential buried here by my hands.”
"Choice within limits
As vast as the cosmos
Chances that outnumber the stars
Devolution, instead
Reversion to primitive states.
A desire for blood, the death of compassion
Their well performed art: the harvest of pain."
“Evolutionary impulse; can you fault them?
Reptilian brain; can they be blamed?”
"There did exist the space
For love instead of hate
For peace instead of pain
For empathy and grace
Some of them knew what all could know
Most others rejected en masse
They made their choice to die
They made their choice to dig."
Act IV.
The air begins to tremble
The ground begins to crack
The trumpets crescendo
A storm through creation
Swaths of existence
Ripped straight from the Earth.
The angel points to the abyss
He hangs his head, the last grave left
A choice and a chance
He drops his shovel
His mistakes can never be undone.
The Gravedigger—old, broken, tired
Lowers himself into the grave
Closes his eyes
And takes his final breath.
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