Lyrics

[GHOST STORYTELLER, spoken] Beethoven then begged For these shadows to take their leave That they had no business being there But the shadows, they disagreed For no matter how Beethoven implored For these shadows to leave him alone They chattered on and would not be gone From this, his one-man catacomb Then Twist explained how it was That they could not do as the composer wished For since they were his shadows It was only by his light thеy could exist And as Beethoven's life was fading On this, his final night It was only natural that thеse shadows Should cling closer to his fading light Now, meanwhile, the clock, it just ticked on As clocks are one to do For time's their only purpose Their only point of view But when that clock struck midnight Its chimes both loud and clear From out of those shifting shadows A final figure did appear His voice, it had a certain charm That concealed all his disease As he introduced himself to them As thee, Mephistopheles He said he had come to collect The Great Beethoven's soul He said it wasn't much, you see [MEPHISTOPHELES, spoken] Merely, a lump of coal You look surprised, my dear composer This simple fact to learn But before tomorrow morning Together, we will watch it burn [GHOST STORYTELLER, spoken] Beethoven stepped back in horror [BEETHOVEN, spoken] This thing cannot be true! I have done no great wrongs in life At least none that I knew [MEPHISTOPHELES, spoken] Men quite often forget their sins [GHOST STORYTELLER, spoken] The Devil did reply [MEPHISTOPHELES, spoken] Until it's too late to repent Forgetting it's never too late to die It's a part of human nature Upon which I've come strongly, to rely Men quite often forget their sins For redemption can always wait And I always allow this to happen It's an important part of my bait And by the time they remember It always tends to be… too late Now, you may think your sins are minor That to enter Hell, they're not enough Well, a cruel act, a rude word there Believe me, they add up And rising from the shadows Is the specter of your death For since your birth, he has been owed And now is here to clear the debt But perhaps we can talk a little while For you are not dead… not yet [The cloaked figure of death rises from the floor He offers Beethoven a bony hand The composer backs away in terror as Mephistopheles sympathetically offers advice.]