The Fool in the Play
The actors left the stage, I waited for the encore, but it never came.
I was the fool in the play, although it was a classic, my stardom seemed tame.
Everyone laughed at my serious lines, they didn't see me miming in time.
As the curtain fell, I retreated into my well publicised shell.
The lines were never learnt as I just had to laugh.
Then the uncracked smile appeared for the press photograph.
Everyone shouted, I drowned in ridicule.
So I carried on playing the part of the fool.
The opening night was so unrehearsed.
Within the womb, the maternal juices, I was totally immersed.
My Mother was the audience and she screamed in pain.
For her contentment she vowed - never again.
I was a burden, a pack on the back of the ass.
I was the fool in the play, and God had a backstage pass.
It was a tragedy, bloody tears fell from blood shot eyes.
The celebrations with drink proved I was on the brink of life's lies.
So I entered the World on the soapbox of life.
A crowd gathered to hear the definition of strife.
Yet the lines were misprinted and everyone joked.
So I found the hangman's noose and my breath was choked.
The coffin I was given had expensive additions.
Fitted with silk lining and mahogany partitions.
My death was a masterpiece of modern theatre.
And I stood at golden gates hearing words of wisdom, from a friendly, angelic, welcoming St. Peter.
I walked on and on and sat next to my Master.
His lines were so natural, they sped past me, faster and faster.
He said your acting seemed rather a shambles.
He advised me to walk for ever along countryside rambles.
So I followed his directions and met all my friends.
They said, 'Around here we avoid all the trends'.
I thought, 'This seems fine an enjoyable place.'
Then I had the shock of my life, there was your face.
You walked towards me and held my hand
So I wondered, do I bow, do I kneel or maybe stand?
You said don't worship, just live as you did.
I was terrified, I was scared so I ran and I hid.
The relations I'd lost, found me alone and they laughed.
They said, 'Stop, we've got our cameras for the press photograph.'
I thought, 'Can I return, go home, go to hell and burn?'
They cursed me and said, 'Our love you spurned.'
But I knew heaven was not my scene, so I soon found the door.
They shouted after me, pleaded and implored.
But I ignored their cries and ran as fast as I could.
There were trees, so dense, an evergreen wood.
And then it happened, the curtain rose.
I looked at myself and noticed my clothes.
They were golden, made of silk and soft, shiny satin.
My name inscribed, written in Latin.
Then I strolled off the stage and faked my death
And everyone asked, 'Is it his final breath?'
It was.