What a pity, look at me
Alone and in poor company
- A lethargic insomniac
- A possible Opheliac
In this hackneyed teen tragedy
The actresses are simply me

Each one of them plays their own bit
Their performances are strictly sh*t
So sick of this lame masquerade
No will is left - f*ck the charade
I really should just end this skit
Too bad my character's too chicken-sh*t

The spotlight's baring down on me
Can't let the judge's panel see
It if I dare forget my line
I might get booed off stage this time
Can't even crumble into apathy
For fear of breaking fourth walls with my plea

Each actress plays her counterpart
Ophelia fakes a hard heart
The psycho plays psychologist
That lazy b*tch - an activist
The doodler scribbles her "art"
But seamless acts still fall apart

Then when the curtains close on me
I slip backstage so I can be
Obscured enough to stow the script
Long enough to find a lift
Up into the balcony
Before this theatre's the death of me