SEVENTEEN
(Music and lyrics by Julia Olivarez)
The sea's a vulgar sideshow fraud,
a doxy in a spangled dress
If He's so clever, why can't God
put on a show with more finesse?
The sunset reeks of midway squall
of Ferris wheel and crooked game
The moon's a gyp, a weighted ball
a prize for all with lousy aim
To be or not to be, that's the dispute
or maybe it's not and I'm just being cute
Whatever I do, it's all been done before
Show me more, show me more, show me more . . .
The world is not a place to hide
unless tinted postcards sound like fun
Siamese metaphors aside
to hell with sea and moon and sun
The only place to be depressed
is in a small unwindowed room
If wily old grief must be addressed
it's best if carny folk don't loom
To be or not to be, that is the quiz
To dream of what might be or wake to what is
Whether 'tis nobler in the mind to blah, blah, blah --
Ad astra per aspera, anima
The smell of corndogs could distract
a roadshow Hamlet from his soliloquy
Roll up those tents, you've all been sacked
Go act the tarts where I can't see
For all your glamour and all your press
You're awfully crude. Your slips still show
You Gypsies with the big address
why don't you tell me something I don't already know?
To be or not be, that is the rub
If Heaven will have me, is it my kind of club?
Whatever I do, it's all been done before
I don't care what they tell me, there's got to be more
back . . .