Whose Tears Are These...

A simple chord strafes the air, then lands the familiar snare
That quickly, the well of my eye reminds me just how deeply I care
Plucked strings pierced with angst express such a disbelief
Making way for the baritone to whisper a way out of his grief
He strolls in melacholia, swings entry in a false laughter
But reality regrets to inform him that he is a terrible actor
He bellows a death cry, but his request is met with denial
As he howls, his wide world is suddenly reduced to an isle
In the background, a bridge to usher him over the trouble
But he is heavy; the bridge collapses as his agony doubles
A chorus to carry the burdensome fate that smothers his voice
I could change tunes, but my heart tells me that I don't have any choice

The chorus raises the baritone, raises him to another performance
But he can no longer pretend, bitter lyrics now coming so formless
A second verse trickles, bleeds from a heart in a woman's clutches
Knees leave him nothing to stand on; love no more provides the crutches
And the audience applauds him, agony for the sake of entertainment
He needs to see her before him, if only a spectre for arraignment
If she could only reveal the reason, so he could pick up the fragments
And restructure without the fatal flaws that made it all so tragic
His pain quickens the listeners, making each soul hurt so badly
"Sing out like drowning sorrows, Brotha; sing out ever-so-sadly!"
An everlasting wail meets with standing ovation; still, no response
Whose tears are these... I guess his isn't the only house that she haunts