The clock has stuck twelve, my departure is now, I must bid you farewell, it's time for my bow.
My life is a show, the curtains now shredded, the stage collapsed, and the cast beheaded.
The crowd loudly shrieks and roars at my lines, they find them paltry and without "proper rhymes."
They cease to find beauty in my works of art, all their eyes see is a grievous heart.
And as I utter my final words, all falls silent and my soul swiftly bows.