Here I sit in a row of my peers,
No feeling, no life, no freedoms, no fears.
Chosen in time of untimely scene,
Plucked am I from my spot in between.
I take off my hat, and prepare for the show.
A good rub should do it, as most men will know.
I spout off my magic, making brilliant the stage.
When curtains is called, My life is not stayed.
With a flick of a wrist, and not a word said,
I leave from this theater, discarded and dead.
It's good to be back.