'Twas a year full of New Line, and all 'cross our stage,
Flowed joyfulness, misery, triumph and rage;
A year full of rave reviews, praise, and premieres,
All greeted with laughter, with tears, and with cheers.
Our actors were fearless, our audience too
(They never knew just what those actors might do);
Each show an adventure, each song a surprise,
Emotion so honest, and yet super-size.
While rocking and belting out all her distress;
Her husband, her daughter, and son (a tad rude)
All took the same ride, with a sweet stoner dude.
They battled and bandied, in song after song,
On her road to recovery, winding and long;
And just when we thought they'd be swallowed by night,
They left us with hope and a faint ray of light.
To fuck expectations and wash clean our shame.
Like Christ on the cross (but today, in L.A.),
Reassuring us all that our sins are okay.
On the wildest of rides, the players confide
That we are all Bukowsical, deep down inside,
The truth of that hitting us square in the eyes,
Like a wonderful, wacky, and truthful surprise.
We took on the musicalized living dead.
No dancing, no silly self-referencing dreck,
Just horror-suspense that might leave you a wreck:
Shootings, explosions, fist fights, power plays,
And songs that would haunt your subconscious for days,
Screaming and fighting and zombies outside,
And one hell of a climax – one hell of a ride!
Before we move on, turn our minds now to Rent,
It's good to remind us how much those shows meant
To the thousands of people who laid down their bucks
To see a great story (and hear several fucks),
Who want that connection we all need to thrive,
That only can come from performance that's live.
Emotion gets bigger the second you sing,
So we'll move on to Rent, and see you in the spring...
Merry Christmas and Happy Holidays!
Scott
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