ACT II: Talent - Stephen Sondheim

When I was a tyke,

I said, «What I like

Is art.

I know I’m a boy,

But what I enjoy

Is art.»

Looking at paintings, going to plays,

Music and books informing my days,

Filling my mind,

Flooding my heart

With art!

I had this dream of becoming an artist--

A painter, a poet, who knows?

I had a nice little talent for drawing

And a natural feeling for prose.

I even began to compose.

So many talents,

Wasn’t I blest!

All of them good,

A few of them better,

None of them best,

Just enough talent to know

That I hadn’t the talent.

So I put my dream

And my self-esteem

To rest.

That must have been difficult.

Yes.

But it didn’t matter.

I merely had to find

out what I was meant to be.

I couldn’t decide,

Then one day I spied

Palm Beach.

A speck on the map,

No more than a gap:

Palm Beach!

Jungle and seashore, muddy and raw,

But in a flash I suddenly saw

What it would take,

What I could make

Palm Beach!

I had this dream of a city of artists,

Versailles by the Florida sea.

A sort of world congregation of artists,

All encouraged to set themselves free.

I knew what I wanted to be!

I’d be their host and supporter,

The patron saint

Of the things that they write

And compose and paint.

I would wander among them with

lavish praise

As they carve their statues,

Construct their plays,

Design their buildings,

Recite their rhymes,

Making modern art

Fit for modern times--!

So many talents,

Gathered en masse!

Painters and poets,

Artists and dreamers,

Watered like grass.

And if the talent I have

Is for nurturing talent,

Then succeed or fail,

I will see they sail

First-class.

And my father can go stick it up his ass.