The great artist wrapped all up in despair
Slings and arrows of outrageous fortune
His sighs, cries, whimpers, beyond compare
Indulges himself in self-absorption
Channeling the melancholy into
Beautiful song that strikes right at the heart
I’ll bet you think this song is about you
No, it’s just the imaginary part
The truth aches, like being tortured by fire
Just a slow burn, here for your amusement
Buried in a learned helplessness so dire
The truth not quite clear, more like translucent
Appearances lie, peel back the layers
The world’s a stage, we are but its players
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