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letra de the suffering stage - joseph huber

on the suffering stage
oh, its a lonely play
the scene is this beat-up, shut-down world
and every soul’s the main
every seat in the house is a vacant sp-ce
but she’s a whirlwind backstage
in your aching brain
so in silence rage on the suffering stage

on the suffering stage
all the leads takes their place
pain like a spotlight shines
and blinds you in and frames your cage
the front doors are locked;
the whole house is dark
and there’s always plenty of sp-ce to park
and the marquee lights display
just reads, “look the other way” from the suffering stage

well, all you needed was a hand to hold
or an ear just to hear your cry
but everywhere that you turn
everybody’s busy learning their own d-mn lines
like a man ain’t nothing more than just a penny in the tray
take one or leave one, boy, you don’t you know another will just
take it’s place among the fray
who’ve all come of age on the suffering stage

some folks make their own plate
shape their own fate, h-ll, it worked out great
while other folks under the yoke of a bad hand slave to their final page;
some men with full pockets will sit around and comfortably gauge
how there’s nothing quite less flattering than a poor man’s rage
while the desperate cries rising from human stockades
just yield cold-shoulder cries that stamp “it’s too d-mn late”
on the face of a nation now covered in flies
and a rooster crows, and a gambler lies
and innocence suffers, and little children die
with no one left to blame, no, h-ll, not even in the sky
but what for whatever’s grace, it could just as well be you or i
right there in that helpless place, but just turn your face
and say, plain as the day, “what a shame, but better them than i,”
and a rooster crows and a gambler lies
and innocence suffers and little children die
upon the stage; right there upon the stage
with little or no outrage, for ‘death is the wage,’ they say
here on the suffering stage

the lights are all off now, but the dreams and the pain, they still remain;
seeking one moment’s triumph in ten thousand foolish and fruitless ways
as if one grape was somehow found to be worth a field
of naked barren branches all withered without yield
and in that solitary taste, hope to smile and p-ss away
lest your heart falls prey and gets one more chance to say
“one more day….oh, just one more day, lord, here on the suffering stage.”

- joseph huber

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