IT only takes so long,
For someone who's tried everything,
To arrive at their wits' end.
A dead end.

How many "To be's" or "Not to be's" must I conjur
And reflect upon me in my mirror image,
My visage clean but with pain of doubt.
For all the rest are destined to torture me so.....

In anger, in creed, in spite, in sadness, in light
They chide upon the ruthless upheavel /intent/ion/s/ed/ of my Earth.
Turned 'round and about. My timbre thinned.
Till never say I about nefarious nor good.
LET ME BE!

They say I am a changeling but my thought be these so,
For in their hands they sew, what's mine, what's 'ours'
What I 'think' is mine, for they know, for they know.
But... let it but be that they think they think /methinks they be thinking/s/ of/ they know....
What's real...

In tune, I am, but in constant tune I never am,
But I can harmonize for you, expectant of any man on earth, for that.

Hear my music box woes, it's all the same,
each time.
Why can't I get through to you?
I'll do whatever I have to do.
And I'm not playing a part,
And I won't say adieu,
We will never ever be through,
For the echoing of my heart....

--Exeunt-- `