I’d rather be bored than boring,
As with custom thus so chored,
My body to unfit garb contorting,
And unto barren shores there moored,
To wish the crags had just drowned me,
Instead of let me live so dry,
For a life so utter empty
Is better just to die;
So I watch the actors play
Well-rehearsed in their parts,
Ever knowing what to say
As though it comes from their hearts,
Whilst I am free from torpid tether
There to monitor amused
People talking of the weather
And banality perused,
Alone.