All the world’s a stage, a page, That fills itself the more we age. We start with steps, increase our depth, And pretty soon it’s pirouettes. We start to think, we start to dream, Our hopes will surely burst a seam. But then we see the front row faces, The empty stares, the big disgraces. We missed a step, “right here, look up, Go back. Deplete your half full cup. Why the anger? Why the face? You asked for this, you chose this place.” So much judgment that contradicts, Some say fly, and some say quit. But what do WE say? Who do we dance for? All the world’s an empty dance floor. We choose our partners, we choose our song, Forget the audience that’s wrong. Remember why we dance at all, And shortly after you’ll recall, That your whole world’s an empty stage, It’s just like mine, except not at all.