trauma-drama

it's not what's so that pains me
it's the myth that life must
somehow show up differently
to accomodate the daily script
of the soap-opera i create,
produce, direct and star in to
provide some meaning for it all

it's the mystery stirs the jitters
not the actors or the drama
where's the fun or tragedy
without a suitable juicy trauma?
one must always ask oneself
do i play this part for thee and me
or to impress some critic or another ?

there's no more need
for higher billing on the
local playhouse marquee
as i've quit the business
some long time back and
dropped the trauma-drama act
this hack no longer needs a name

there is for me a greater calling
that requires no paint or wardrobe
i'm just another bozo on the bus
it's not about where it's been
or where it might be headed
it's that i take a seat and
buckle up for what promises
to be a helluva rockin' ride

for thee, tonight's show is over
with the velvet curtains drawn
the overheads have dimmed
the joint is empty now that
the audience has taken leave
to wherever it is they go
the crucial question of this time
who to be with the lights gone out ?

what costume does our actor wear ?
what role is there left to play ?
there's no-one at the backstage door
not a soul where our performer sleeps
it won't be long til the boards are up
and the gypsy show must travel onwards
our player must be ready when it does

there is no choice but to jump aboard
that tattered road-worn caravan
the roles may number in the dozens
but it's the player who mimes the part
that must arise and don the greasepaint
for as long as the trauma-drama plays
as we all know, the show it must go on !

or......