I've gone without bread, I've slept in the mud
I've given my best while they 've screamed for my blood
I've begged and I've bullied for any small chance to perform
At nights I've awakened, my guts in a knot
Remembering how much I gave up and for what
Some paints and some costumes are a pitiful tent in a storm
A handful of coins, a trunk always packed
No family, no home, just this madness to act
Still I have a theory about this disease we contract
That most men are equally crazy as actors in fact
Why does a boy carve his name on a tree?
Or the first-born inherit the throne?
What is a sculptor aspiring to be
 When he spends half his life carving stone?
Kings build their tombs for the ages
 Poets and fools fill up their pages
 What are we hoping for? What do we fear?
 I say we yearn to leave something that lasts
 To be known for what little we've done
 Men tell their children the tales of their pasts
And each man gives his name to his son
 Something in song or in story
 Something in blood, something of glory
Something that won't fade away in a year
Well, I will not flicker and die like an ember
Too many men flicker and die
I will leave something behind to remember
 Somehow I must - don't ask me why
 I have no wealth, at least none I can claim
 And no patience for carving in stone
All that I have are my skill and my name
 And this chance to make both of them known
 This is my key to the portal
 How I can leave something immortal
 Something that time cannot make disappear
Something to say: I was here!