Shakespeare

I don’t know about you but it seems to me
That we’re not as free as we use to be
Cages don’t confine the flesh in the lair
But the spirit doesn’t tune in to what doesn’t care

A headache throbs in Shakespeare’s head
The migraine's alive and the playwright’s dead
I guess it’s like the great one said
All things must come to end

Outside the rain pounds down very hard
Heaven laments the passing of a bard
Hell’s dirt provides comfort while concealing its card
Compassion bought to send

My arteries explode with the passing of art
Maybe the Neutron will give us another start
To shop the soul and not the mart
Maybe I’ll find a friend

You can go on and do what you want to do
Stick your head down deep in the earthly stew
But if you do then you may very soon find
That the rest of you is six feet under-mined

A headache throbs in Shakespeare’s head
The migraine's alive and the playwright’s dead
I guess it’s like the great one said
All things must come to end

Outside the rain pounds down very hard
Heaven laments the passing of a bard
Hell’s dirt provides comfort while concealing it’s card
Compassion bought to send

My arteries explode with the passing of art
Maybe the Neutron will give us another start
To shop the soul and not the mart
Maybe I’ll find a friend

Copyright (c) by Neal S. Reynolds