You said that the world is naught but a stage;
Men and women are merely actors.
Existence is scripted, each life is a page,
But you lied—lied!—on all these factors.
For you always know that this life is no jest;
Gods above toy with humans below.
But people believed you, and the never guessed
That players they weren’t, and life’s not a show.
They thought they were actors, for humans are vain;
Each one strived to become a sensation.
They acted on courage, on hate and on pain;
Every scene brought still greater elation.
They acted on dreams, and they dreamed they could fly;
They dreamed like the nightingale sings.
They thought they were acting and took to the sky;
No one watched as they all broke their wings.
The curtains came down, but applause never came,
Fate tossed their scripts into her fire,
They realized just then that life isn’t a game,
And they knew then that you are a liar.
Still people believe you, and they try to fly;
Still more spirits and wings become broken.
But I don’t believe you, for Shakespeare, you lie,
And bring grief with the lies that you’ve spoken.