Winslow remembers working on his Cantata for Swan...working tirelessly and long for the producer in that walled-off studio in the Paradise. He doesn't know what happened, he dozed off and now...it' gone.
His music, the studio, it's all gone. All that remains is this...this place. The burning gears in his mind began to work, crackling and fuming. Swan. It had to be him. He rushes, looking like a flowing black cape and spaceship.]
Swan...Swan...SWAN!
[This Petty Place]
[It wasn't the Paradise...nor was it anyplace that looked like Swan's Death Records studios. It felt so strange...it was a prison, but he had been in one prison or another, hadn't he? There were others trapped with him this time. Misery in company, after all.
But he kept himself at a distance. After all...his face was hidden under this mask. His voice...it was gone, all he had was but this box to speak with. To the outside world Winslow Leach was dead. He may as well be a ghost here as well.
Winslow has a talent for hiding. He likes to hid in the main rooms, looking for a way to escape, watching the others occasionally. But hey, sometimes others may see him.]
[Break a Leg]
[Who doesn't love music? Winslow gets his own special record, courtesy of everyone's favorite nostalgia band The Beach Bums. The song pours out. Already his eye twitches.]
That music...that music....
[His breathing gets uneven. That damned bastardized version of his song...that Swan STOLE. He can see the producer's sick grin his head.]
That's my music.
[No more. Winslow lets out a blood-curdling electronic scream. That's it, he needs to destroy the music right now.]
Where is it?!
[Cue Music]
[In the end, all Winslow knows and has is music. And when his life reaches a low, it's what he ultimately turns to. He knows this situation is dire, but all he has is his own bitterness to vent.]
Save some face You know you only got one Change your ways While you're young
Winslow Leach | Phantom of the Paradise
[What day was it?
Winslow remembers working on his Cantata for Swan...working tirelessly and long for the producer in that walled-off studio in the Paradise. He doesn't know what happened, he dozed off and now...it' gone.
His music, the studio, it's all gone. All that remains is this...this place. The burning gears in his mind began to work, crackling and fuming. Swan. It had to be him. He rushes, looking like a flowing black cape and spaceship.]
Swan...Swan...SWAN!
[This Petty Place]
[It wasn't the Paradise...nor was it anyplace that looked like Swan's Death Records studios. It felt so strange...it was a prison, but he had been in one prison or another, hadn't he? There were others trapped with him this time. Misery in company, after all.
But he kept himself at a distance. After all...his face was hidden under this mask. His voice...it was gone, all he had was but this box to speak with. To the outside world Winslow Leach was dead. He may as well be a ghost here as well.
Winslow has a talent for hiding. He likes to hid in the main rooms, looking for a way to escape, watching the others occasionally. But hey, sometimes others may see him.]
[Break a Leg]
[Who doesn't love music? Winslow gets his own special record, courtesy of everyone's favorite nostalgia band The Beach Bums. The song pours out. Already his eye twitches.]
That music...that music....
[His breathing gets uneven. That damned bastardized version of his song...that Swan STOLE. He can see the producer's sick grin his head.]
That's my music.
[No more. Winslow lets out a blood-curdling electronic scream. That's it, he needs to destroy the music right now.]
Where is it?!
[Cue Music]
[In the end, all Winslow knows and has is music. And when his life reaches a low, it's what he ultimately turns to. He knows this situation is dire, but all he has is his own bitterness to vent.]
Save some face
You know you only got one
Change your ways
While you're young
[Wildcard]