Paroles de Collections

"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.