If all the world is a stage
And all the men and women merely players,
What am I, if I am either and neither?
You condemn us for creating our own words
To describe the mess of our heads
But you forget
You were born with the script
I was born without even the language to describe how I'm feeling
So we hit back, break the ceiling
Forgive me if my words confuse you
I've never felt yours made sense.