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act 1- performance that they'll never forgetand every second of suspense is a lit cigarettethat burns both ends, hopelessly focused, a kamikazelonging for a little clemency, a hint of camaraderieinaudibly bradcasting appeal to the worldeven with a million mics, can't appeal the girlhe appears to unfurl and hovers the stageevery sip of suicide loosens the locks on the chainshe's talking deranged- call it the charm of dependencethe pain of recent times a sign for needed repentanceending the minute he's pursued, pursuit of anotherreplacing true love with a loverand deep under cover, not really aware of the reasonseeking the company of strangers, not these people who need himhe makes friends, makes friendships, makes-believethe role of creator assures he's playing the leadarrives promptly to the settry to memorize the part so he won't forgetbut he's known for ad-libbing at timeswith a tendency to step on lineshe's in the lead but for what, a disaster?the direction doesn't state what he's afterhe's in the lead but for what, a romance?the production doesn't offer a chanceLetras de cancionesact 2- in which we see the conflict is heightenedalthough our hero isn't shaken nor frightenedthe impending conclusion presents a challenge reminiscent of past daysthe last phase, all-consumed by a trapped mazeand that way, he could stay unnoticed, unheardobey the blocking, read the script by the wordeventually, his diligence led to monotonyand constantly noted on ways to play the action properlycoupled with costars who considered him their propertyturning his artistic achievement into a mockerymade him regret all the times he motivated and shared with herbut in the end, it helped develop his characterso now he swears by the aid of an actressdespite the fact that it's been years since he's practicedhe'll make it up- the craft of acting takes will and determinationone day, he'll find someone to embrace himarrives promptly to the settry to memorize the part so he won't forgetbut he's known for ad-libbing at timeswith a tendency to step on lines(his own lines)he's in the lead but for what, a romance?the production doesn't offer a chancehe's in the lead but for what, a satire?the writing ridicules the desireyou can't say that we didn't tryturning a "you and me" into "us" before we split like a "Y," Ipull the shades, take a glimpse at the skyevery time the sun sets, it genuflects a goodbyenow we never had a formal farewellelectronic correspondence- kiss and do not telldon't well up all the facts, the brass tacks are gratuitousalthough a part of me secretly wishes that the two of uscould've made it- or made the time or made the effort essentialto swallow pride and see the greatest potentialinstrumental to the downfall was latent autonomyfrom previous relation declines, like the economyhonestly, intuitively, I was withdrawnand you were too engaged to respondor maybe it was all just a case of wrong time, wrong placebut it's useless to me now that you're gone From Letras Mania