Why, she wondered, can't we quit the production and
go back to what's real?
Meet me at the intermission
and take my hand,
I'll lead you to where the flowers are real
and the sky can't be reached.
I don't know where the rain comes from,
but let it rain on me.
I don't know how the bees got here,
but let them buzz around you.
And I'll lay with you in the sun-scorched grass
and forever try not to remember.
If you promise we might never be on stage,
as I promise we never return.
You and me, backstage, tonight.
All the world's a stage,
And all the men and women merely players:
They have their exits and their entrances;
And one man in his time plays many parts.