Life's but walking shadow
A poor player that strts and frets
His hour upon the stage,
and then is heard no more;
It is a tale
Told by an idiot,
full of sound and fury
signifing nothing.
An idea is a flashing fire
In the land of our dark desires
And you're never tired
Like a bird you are trying to use
Your broken wings
To open the cage
To cross the nigh
To pass over the bridge
And fly away