All the World`s a stage,
A friend of mine, he sometimes said,
And though he tried to show the way,
They only care about his name.
Love is for the Fool,
A blind old man, he always said.
But of its` joys, he sometimes spoke
And then it seemed, he could see.
Life is for the Strong,
A travelling monk, he told me once
But of the weak, he never spoke
though their cries beat on his ears.
I stood my gun in hand
The Swallow flew to meet his love
And as they touched, I shot him down
But now it`s me that can`t fly.
