Madam Pinkie and the Woes of the World
When you're rife with devastation there's a simple explanation
You're a toymaker's creation trapped inside a crystal ball
They were lost and afraid, full of such pain and hurt. What was I to do? They found me. Not those wretched souls, but their cries. Carried on the winds of suffering and shattered childhood, woes and foul memories were sent adrift.
The world was in pain, and I heard it. I heard it all. Over leafy canopies, and between shivering green blades. Down the coursing wraths of water falls. Beneath the exposing fire of day, and the chilly isolation of night. They sought and found me.
And whatever way he tilts it know that we must be resilient
In my tent of wonders, I listened to them howl. They kept me up at night and I tried to think of how to stop them. Then my blessed little whispers told me what had to be done. I grabbed and gathered, then mixed into a brew. Tapping, then chanting, then humming, then screaming, then singing, I mixed the ins of the cauldron. The eyes of something and the toes of another, pink fog and green steam rose from the pot.
I'll cook up a solution with the knowledge I've accrued
They say a kitch-en time saves nine, but I'm just saving two!
The tears of small little ones and clippings from an immortal, bubbles popped and gurgled and popped. Black smoke and blue mist lifted and hissed as the blood of a rose sploshed into the mix. The fire underneath flicked with a rhythm, and the heat of the room begged to melt time. I sang at my concoction as I spun in the fumes.
I've gathered the ingredients to make some time sorbet
There's hardly room for seconds when the seconds melt away!
The screams dimmed, the cries dampened, the howls dwindled. Muffled.
Viles and vases, cases and cups. I emptied my confection in them and readied to go on the move. The tarp pulled back and the gas swallowed the moonlight, glowing as it elevated and tried to join the rest of the dreams. Just the same, the stars were too high an aim, and it collapsed in the air fading away into almost nothings.
Watch as I work my gypsy magic
Eye of a newt and cinnamon
Watch as the matter turns to batter
I was on my way to help them, because I overstayed my stay on the uninhabited outskirts of yet another bustling thriving civilization. The moon would be stuffed down and the sun would be hurled up before long. I had a long ride ahead of me, with a new tune brimming my smoke filled lungs.
Tomorrow was only as relative as the crawling shadows and the purging rain. And tomorrow I would purge the groaning world’s shadows with a relative shower of song, one village at a tome.
First stop, the librarian’s town.
Open the portal, jump in!
My song still funneled through my vains, enriching me with the beauty of my own crafting.
We won't let them break our spirits as we sing out silly song
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~*~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
“Hey, what’s this in fron’a Town Square?”
“I don’t know, but there’s some strange music coming from inside.”
“Catchy... ain’ it?”
“Yeah, sort of hypnotizing…”
“Yeah… Well, lets get goin’ we can’t be late ta work again.”
“...hmm? Yeah… yeah right…”
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~*~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
“But Mommy, I have to see inside that tent.”
“That strange tent appeared last night, and hardly anypony knows why. Even though the officers declared it safe to enter, I think you should stay away from it.”
Little filly ears drooped down as much as the frown on her face.
All day in school she listened to all the other ponies talk about their plan to take a peek in the tent. It just wasn’t fair that she would be the only pony who didn’t do it too.
“Ok.” Youthful curiosity was once again stomped in tune to childish obedience.
And, the thumping bumping hoping chords strummed along, growing even louder.
No pony noticed a thing.
But noticing and feeling are two distinct things.
The filly’s mother looked back for a second with a suspicious glance before nudging her daughter away with a bit more speed.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~*~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Bum Bum
Nearer to its hour of rest, the sun sat low in the sky. Orange and pink, and the last sliver of blue, stretched overhead. The honey rays of ending day bathed humble Ponyville.
Bum Bum
The night shifters, evening strollers, star gazers, and the like were on the move through their town, preparing for the coming night and its normal routine.
But there were other’s. Others who were leaving their homes, taking the long way to their jobs, and skipping the parties planned weeks in advance. They all made their way to the heart of the beat.
Bum Bum
“That music’s all the way in town, and I hear it from here!” The dark blue stallion mumbled to himself without realizing he was pawing the ground. He walked away from the open window for the third time.
“Hmm?” A tan mare asked, not looking away from the newspaper she’s finally gotten the time to read.
“How can you read with that music blasting across Ponyville?” he managed to say while he repositioned a lamp closer to his wife with his mouth. She always forgot to light more lanterns when she read in the study.
“Oh, thanks dear. What music?” An eyebrow lifted as she glanced away from her newspaper and above her glasses. It was a cautious look.
"What do you mean, 'what music'? Can't you hear it? It's been going all day." It was his turn to raise an eyebrow, though the look on him seemed more anxious that judging.
Lowering her newspaper even more, she craned an ear towards the window her husband had been standing by. "I don't hear anything, dear."
"But, its so loud. How can you miss it?" His eyes went wide as he looked between his wife and the open window with a view all the way back to the center of town.
"Dear,..." his wife finally put down the paper, looking at her husband with worry in her yellow eyes. "Do we have to call the doctor again?"
“No, really there is music, loud booming music, coming from the middle of town."
"Maybe I should call, just in case-”
“No!-”
Bum Bum Bun Nun Nun
“Didn’t you hear that?” His ears perked to the window.
The tan mare rose from her chair, planning to head to the closest room containing an enchanted scroll. It operated much in the same way that Twilight's did, but in this case was only good for one direct send to the physician and one reply. After that it would simply become a normal piece of parchment.
“I’ve got to go see what’s going on,’’ he decided with a nod that seemed follow a beat.
“Sweatheart, just stay right there. I’m going to call Dr. O’Scope.” She was already at the door, just about to pull the knob.
Bum Bum
“I don’t need that quack! I’m fine, but there is music, it’s been playing all day, and I need to see why.” The dark blue stallion marched up to the door his wife had just trotted out of. He could see her fishing for the scroll in the drawer of the room directly across the study.
Bum Bum
He shook his head. She was being ridiculous; this wasn’t a relapse, he wasn’t hearing things again. This was real. He was sure of it.
It didn’t matter this his wife couldn’t hear it.
Bum Bum
Turing a left down the hall with the tacky vase his mother-in-law insisted they needed, he went down the flight of stairs, which led straight out the door.
“I’ve sent the scroll. Just stay-” The tan mare looked across both rooms to find that her husband wasn’t there.
She heard the slam of the front door, so she cantered back to the window in the study to see him galloping at full speed to the center of town underneath the dropping sun.
What surprised her wasn’t how far her husband had gotten since he left, which was quite a decent space for a stallion his age, but all the other ponies in the neighborhood who were running in the same direction.
Bum Bum Bun Nun Nun
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~*~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
When I was a little filly, a galloping blaze overtook my city
So they sent me off to the orphanage
Come gather! Come gather, to the tent of the Gyp!
She speaks with a knowledge far beyond common lips.
Pull back the tarp flap and open your ears.
She can answer your questions and allay all your fears.
Said, "Ditch those roots if you wanna fit in"
So I dug one thousand holes and cut a rug with orphan foals
Wary and heart broken she knows those things well.
She too has a story that is gut-wrenching to tell.
She knows about sorrows, about flames and black skies.
The Madame of the Caravan is experienced and wise.
Now memories are blurred and their faces are obscured
But I still know the words to this song
Some go mad from horrors flashed in their minds.
Other flash horrors and stir up more mad grinds.
If memories are to be lost and lives to start anew,
The fair Gypsy Pie has a special new brew...
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~*~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
When you've bungled all your bangles and your loved ones have been mangled
Loud! So loud were those voices now. They tumbled over each other trying to be the one she heard first.
"We've tried everything!" they cried.
"The medicine didn't work!" they cried.
"I'm tired of the memories!" they cried.
"Take away the nightmares!" they cried.
"How do we know you'll work?" One asked in trepidation, knowing too well the allure of snake oils.
"Can you help us?" another questioned.
"What’s the catch?" another questioned.
"Is this a trick?" another questioned.
"Can we trust you?" another questioned.
Loud! So loud were those voices now. They tumbled over each other trying to be the one she heard first.
Listen to the jingle-jangle of my gypsy tambourine
But through their clashing and reasons she heard a rhythm. What song's questions did not deserve the answer in the same medium?
"Proof!"
They wanted, so the fire was lit.
"Help!"
They needed, so she would give it.
"Proof!"
They cried out, so she dance 'round her pot.
"Help!"
They all pleaded, so she brewed on the spot.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~*~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Cause these chords are hypnotizing and the whole world's harmonizing
Plumes of colours rose to kiss the night. They watched with awe as they felt music mix with the swirling steam, moving it to roll in a clumsy dance of expert grace.
Dismal souls, fettered with the oppression of filthy circumstances were bathed in the glow of the haloed moon.
Calm was settled amongst the crowd like the slipping steam. A hum filled the air.
There were a few amongst the multitude who ventured to the gypsy’s wagon for the thrill, but the rest were there because they belonged, because they heard the call of the thumping beat in sync with their thumping pounding daggering staggering pasts.
They, who belonged, hummed in harmony to the song of the wary.
They believed and opened their palms to the elixir that would heal the scars- for bits of course.
Her caravan cast off when all was said and done, a trail of colourful smoke drifting behind her. The voices in this town were taught the song that stemmed from her wagon. This small portion of the world found its harmony.
The wind picked up just enough to show where the new source of woes came. From the mountains, she realized, so that was were she headed.
When the citizens of Ponyville found themselves out of the sonorous fog the gypsy was gone, but as the wind brushed against them they felt her singing in the distance.
So please children stop your crying and just sing along with me