[Verse 1] Midnight courtyard, torches burning low and thin, Banquo can't rest, there's a static hum within, Fleance beside him, handing over sword and hat, Something in the dark keeps circling like that— Three cursed sisters creeping back inside his skull, Restless dreams pressing, heavy, slow and dull, He's holding to whatever decent light he's got, Praying the heavens restrain the cursed thought. [Verse 2] Enter Macbeth, casual, hands behind his back, Claims he never thinks of them — that's a bold-faced crack, Talks about the witches like some rumor passing through, But he's angling, dangling honour's weight on cue, Hints that if Banquo leans his way when the hour's right, Greater titles wait for him somewhere down the line, Banquo answers steady, draws his own clear line: He'll grow in honour only staying loyal and clean, Bosom unviolated, conscience kept serene, That's husbandry — the thrift of keeping your hands unstained. [Chorus] Is this a dagger which I see before me, The handle toward my hand? A phantom blade nobody else can see, Only Macbeth understands, Dudgeon's just the handle, gouts the drops of red, A dagger of the mind, a false creation, Says the voice inside his head, Is this a dagger, or the shape of what he's planned? The murder's in his conscience long before it's in his hand. [Verse 3] Alone now, firelight flickering on stone, Macbeth sees a blade suspended, hovering on its own, He reaches, grasping, fingers closing just on air— "Art thou not, fatal vision, sensible to feeling as to sight?" Dudgeon's the handle — carved, familiar, plain, Gouts of blood, fresh drops beginning to stain, Was it ever solid, or conjured by the strain, A dagger of the mind, a false creation, Born of fever, heat-oppressed imagination. [Verse 4] Then it tilts and points him straight toward Duncan's door, Marking out the path he's been circling before, A bell starts ringing — that's the signal, cold and plain, His wife's hand on the rope, tugging through his brain, A knell, remember — bell they ring when somebody dies, "Hear it not, Duncan, for it is a knell That summons thee to heaven or to hell," He climbs the stair with murder folded in his mind, Leaving choice and Banquo's caution far behind. [Bridge] One man holds the line, keeps his conscience whole and clean, One man follows shadows into a candlelit scene, Same night, same witches, same temptation's call, Banquo stayed standing — Macbeth took the fall. [Chorus] Is this a dagger which I see before me, The handle toward my hand? A phantom blade nobody else can see, Only Macbeth understands, Dudgeon's just the handle, gouts the drops of red, A dagger of the mind, a false creation, Says the voice inside his head, Is this a dagger, or the shape of what he's planned? The murder's in his conscience long before it's in his hand.
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