© Tom Byrne
Author: Tom Byrne
If all the world's a stage,
Then beneath whose idle gaze
Works the action of these plays?

Who'd go to see this show,
To sit and scratch his balls
In the front row of the stalls?

And popcorn munching idly stare
At the tragic actors' deep despair?

Won't You climb on to the stage
In a play-stop, shouting rage?

Say: "Stop the action!
This attraction's plumbed the depths of taste!"

I am not my flesh,
I am not my blood,
I am not my brain,
I am not my heart.

I am not my pain,
I am not my ire,
I am not my joy;

Not the thought,
Nor the dream,
Nor belief;

Not the bard,
Nor the celt,
Nor the man.

I sprang
From Annwn's dark well;
Now awake,
I have conquered Abred!

I have swum the sea,
I have flown the air,
I have walked the earth,
Now I feel the flame -
Consuming time and space,
Consuming form and place,
Consuming rank and name.

I am awake!
I have sovereignty!
I am aware!