Doctor Ron, the stage is dark, the script is gone,

you’re tap-dancin’ on the fault-line, stethoscope for a mic,

white coat flappin’ like a torn flag over Babylon.

You wrote the cure in chalk across the riot shield—

they just wiped it away, whistled a theme song for the plague.

Spotlight hits, you forget your own blood type,

but you remember every ghost that paid at the gate.

Curtain falls like a guillotine of light—

still you bow, still you swear the encore will outlive the night.

我把淚光藏進(jìn)聚光燈，

像劇本里沒(méi)寫(xiě)的獨(dú)白，

在你掌聲響起的縫隙，

悄悄給自己一片留白。

笑著謝幕，心卻還在臺(tái)上，

假裝灑脫，把愛(ài)折成紙船放；

若我演得足夠像勇敢，

能不能騙過(guò)今晚的月亮？