The present seems so bleak
Listening to the same songs
Watching those films
And reading from that bard
Say we end the heartache
And the thousand natural shocks
That flesh is heir to?
To die-
To sleep , ay! Perchance to dream
There are those who are lucky
There are those who are unlucky
Some unlucky ones fight hard
Some unlucky ones don't fight at all
Blaming fate and curse it
Should I stop listening to those songs?
Or boycott Ashton Kutcher films
Or stop reading Shakespeare and Keats
And take up Hemingway
And watch the news , instead?
Maybe ...
But it wouldn't be exciting
It wouldn't be dramatic
And I wouldn't have to feel empty
I wouldn't have to feel
Sometimes it feels like , a broken toy
A wound in your mouth
That your tongue always retreats to
Say we end the heartache?
It is a consumation devoutly to be wished.
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