The Projectionist

He sits alone, a mechanical room, one single light
No indication of whether the time is day or night
He sets the film on the spool, the one everyone had paid to see
He turns a switch - and he doesn't exist
He becomes a machine who hears the sound
And the audience laughs, and the audience cries
As he tries to pretend that he's watching his life
And they don't know that he's there
Till the day he's not there