I am a man who don’t mind losing
but often end up winning
not because of my wit
nor my cunning cheat

I am simply, a fortune’s fool

Mercutio, O, Mercutio
look where the Queen Mab hath taken us

She is the fairies’ midwife, and she comes
In shape no bigger than an agate stone
On the forefinger of an alderman,
Drawn with a team of little atomi
Over men’s noses as they lie asleep.

Tonight I am afraid
of all the luck that I’ve got
all the fuck that I gave
the buck that I spent

Will they come back to me
as a tragedy of a modern man
who mixed spirituality and ambition
in a brief candle kind of life
in a world that is nothing but a stage

Alas, Queen Mab reminds me of dreamlike life
that can become a mare I ride
in the nights of the witty and cunning