Theme From Cyrano Lyrics

What would you have me do?

Seek out some wealthy patron and crawl like a clinging
vine up the lordly tree? Rising by deceit and trickery
instead of my own strength?
No thank you.

Imitate what others do and dedicate my works to the
rich in the hope of arousing a smile of recognition
from some sterile face?
No thank you.

Breakfast everyday on insults, wear our my knees and
warp my spine with endless bowing and groveling in the
No thank you.

Become a master of hypocrisy and opportunism? Never
letting my right hand know what my left is doing? Burn
incense for some glorified idol of the day, pull the
proper strings?
No thank you.

Shall I become the captain of some literary cult by
writing stupid love songs for wealthy widows and
navigate to success with their sighs filing out my
sails? Pay some publisher to print my poems and bribe
some critic to review them?
No, thank you!

Shall I become the high priest of a petty group of hack
writers who dine together once a week?
No, I thank you!

Shall I build my reputation on one flawless poem and
never write another, should I scheme to get my name
mentioned in the columns of some newspaper and smack my lips over little praises written about me?
No, thank you.

Shall I calculate and scheme, live in fear, make visits
instead of rhymes, meet all the right people, seek
introductions and favors?
No, thank you.
No I thank you . . .
And again, I thank you!

Oh my friend, I prefer to sing, to laugh, to dream, to
travel light in my own way to see things as they are,
and speak out without fear, to cock my hat at any angle
that I choose, to duel if necessary for a quick “yes”
or “no.” I prefer to work alone without any thought of
reward, to scorn fame for a journey to the moon. Never
write a line that does not ring with sincerity. I shall
be content with the fruits and flowers that grow in my
garden, no matter how small, because they belong to me.
Then if success should come my way, no tribute ever
need be paid to Caesar, whatever fortune or misfortune
that happens shall be mine and only mine.

And although I may never reach the stature of a great
oaken tree, I shall never be a parasitic vine. I will
climb perhaps to no great height, but I will . . .
climb . . . alone.

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