You keep thinking the world is your stage.
Gazing upon it, counting your age.
Making assumptions of time and its wage.
Filling in gaps with mathematical rage.
Seeing at once your synapses smoke.
Ending the reign of fanatical hope.
Sliding with quick the miracle slope.
Metaphorically question the end of your rope.
Counting in time syncopationless loss.
Feeding the frenzy expensiveless cost.
Jumping through hoops that square off your ends.
Rising like hope crushed by the bends.
You keep thinking the world is your stage.
Curtains will close, you’re back in your cage.
