Theatre [Version 2]

The London lights are burning all around,

Be careful not to make a sound

Backstage. Fancy-dress games will commence;

They pick their clothes without much sense.

A director, like a god, he sits,

In modern wear, to him befits,

Against the Devil’s stare and words,

And following pawns in all their herds,

To see a time and place once lived,

Or a distant future opened like a gift,

The mind of Shakespeare ne’er had seen,

These objects and people, all like a dream;

But cracks of doubt appear in their eyes;

Perhaps they start to live the lies

And tales, behind the clown-lines emerge

The fears of losing all their words,

Above horrors real-life can bring,

When they’re onstage and when they sing;

Now, to their job they seem to bind,

When will the Earth ever be so kind?

The End

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