The theater stands unlit, lanterns are broken
Shakespeare lies dead on the stage
His poetry to the world wide-open
The costumes hang neatly on racks,
Or folded and trapped in boxes
The show must go on, but can it with this lack?
Where is the gifted directer
Her orange hair all pushed back?
Woe fall, we have failed to protect her!
There is no casket before me,
No funeral pyre to mourn at
The world is fallen, I cannot see
Gather the broken, light the candles without fear
In your honor the show shall go on
The children here will speak only Shakespeare