Stephen Sondheim Sunday - Finale
[GEORGE, spoken]
Dot, why did you write these words?
[DOT, spoken]
They are your words, George. The ones you muttered so often when you worked
[GEORGE, spoken]
"Order"
"Design"
"Tension"
"Composition"
"Balance"
"Light"
Dot, I cannot read this word
[DOT, spoken]
Harmony
[COMPANY]
Sunday
By the blue
Purple yellow red water
On the green
Purple yellow red grass
As we pass
Through arrangements of shadows
Towards the verticals of tree
[GEORGE, spoken]
So much love
In his words...
Forever with his colors...
How George looks...
He can look forever...
What does he see? His eyes
So dark and shiny... so careful... so exact...
[COMPANY]
Forever
By the blue
Purple yellow red water
On the green
Orange violet mass
Of the grass
[DOT]
In our perfect park
[GEORGE]
Made of flecks of light
And dark
[COMPANY]
And parasols...
People strolling through the trees
Of a small suburban park
On an island in the river
On an ordinary Sunday...
Sunday...
Sunday...
[GEORGE, spoken]
White. A blank page or canvas. His favorite. So many possibilities...
