Beneath the Opera House it's damp and cold,
with bats the size of flying Pekingese
(One bonus re: the mask, it keeps out mold,
but gets a little yucky when I sneeze.)
But still, it's not so bad. The sound's sublime
performance nights. Acoustics are the key.
Otello, Traviata--makes the slime
and cobwebs almost bearable for me.
Of course that street's two-way. When I get down
and make my underground pipe organ sing,
my mournful chords go blasting through the town!
It spooks Parisian kids like anything.
But one thing makes a heaven of this tomb:
the peephole in the divas' dressing room!
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