Ripped curtains,
angry clowns
a bottle of absinthe
on the table stands
' that stuff rots your brain'
he says & she smiles
& pours herself a little
the angry clowns
try in vain to mend the curtains
he knocks over
the bottle of absinthe
& she raises an eyebrow,
fixes her garter
outside, the cardboard moon
plays with the dark,
they kiss,
a youthful painter paints them
having paid
for his latest brush
as usual
with *** & lies
a white lily in a vase
looks on
silently

They say the world's a stage,
But what role do i want to play?
Shall i be a king until i age?
Or should i be a cowboy playing in the dirt and hay?
Should i be someone big or small?
Would i even care at all?
Maybe I'd be bad for once,
I'd lead a gang and make my own rules,
Guns and knives would be my tools
I'd take what i want
And you'd do what i say
My power I'd flaunt,
In this role I'd play...
But in the end we'll all take hand,
And take a bow,
On this stage so grand
The time to act is now