In here is a tragedy - art thou player or audience?
Be as it may, the end doth remain: all go on only toward death.
The first words at thy left hand: a false lunacy, a madly dancing man.
Hearing unhearable words, drawn to a beloved's grave --
And there, mayhap, true madness at last.
As did this one, playing at love, find true death at last.
Killing a nameless lover, she pierced a heart rent by sorrow.
Doth lie invite truth? Doth verity but wear the mask of falsehood?
Ah, thou pitiful, thou miserable ones!
Still admidst lies, though the end cometh not, wherefore yearn for death?
Wilt thou attend thy beloved?
Truth and lies, life and death: a game of turning white to black and black to white.
Is not a silence brimming with love more precious than flattery?
A peaceful slumber preferred to a throne besmirched with blood?
There is nothing which cannot become a puppet of fate or an onlooker,
Peering into the cage.