She should have stayed hereafter;
There would have been a time for such a word.
Last weekend and last weekend and last weekend
Is in this petty pace but dimmed accounts
To the last picture posted to Facebook;
And all our party drugs have lighted fools
The way to dusty death. Out, out, brief hookah!
I’m but a walking shadow, a poor player
That struts and frets his hours upon the floor
And then will dance no more. It is a playlist
Mixed by an idiot, full of sound and fury,
Signifying nothing.