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"All the World's a stage,"
A friend of mine, he sometimes said
And though he tried to show the way
They only care about his name

"Love is for the Fool,"
A blind old man, he always said
But of its joys he sometimes spoke
And then it seemed, he could see

"Life is for the Strong,"
A travelling monk, he told me once
But of the weak, he never spoke
Though their cries beat on his ears

I stood my gun in hand
The swallow flew to meet his love
And as they touched, I shot him down
But now it's me that can't fly