I wasted my life upon the stage
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... I wasted my life upon the stage
... I wasted my life upon the stage

I wasted my life upon the stage, you never saw me
I wasted my life upon the stage, you never saw me
I am not myself, these are not my hands
I am not myself, this is a mask that I wear

... I am at the edge of my abilities
... I am at the edge of my limited capabilities

My words pass through you, never heard
My words pass right through you, never once understood
I am not myself, I have buried my desires
For I am not myself, I am not myself!



It is loud, but dark
	In the corner of the crowded room
In his mind he takes a deep draw from a cigarette
	And gazes upward at nothing in particular
Much like James Dean, or Dylan in the movies
	In a way that suggests he has a purpose here
Imagining this soothes his nerves
	But does nothing to quell the smoldering jealousy

20 feet or so, forward and a bit to the left
	The dread magician stands alone upon the stage
We do not comprehend the acts he performs
	Or what spell he must be under to summon such courage


Contorted upon the stage
	Twisting himself into ever more elaborate knots.


It is loud but dark.
It is better not to dwell on such things too deeply.
It is loud but dark.