Lord, make me an instrument;
where there is silence, let me sow voice;
where there is repression, emotional outbursts;
where there is stage fright, self-confidence;
where there is dullness, drama;
where there is cracking, support;
and where there is Bieber, Puccini.
O St. Cecilia,
grant that I may not so much seek
to be entertained, as to entertain;
to be remembered, as to be memorized and off-book;
to be motivated, as to have a clear motivation on stage;
for it is in singing that our names are sung,
it is in making music that we are truly made,
and it is in dying that we are rewarded with one final, glorious, post-stabbing aria.