When the Laughter Stops (feat. Katy J Pearson)

I got the call for the audition It was the chance of a lifetime It said, "If all requirements of this role come to fruition You'll never work another day in your life" So I let my hair grow wrong, don't shave my face I got some brand-new boots and gained a bit of weight But when I finally got the script in for the role which I was hoping It said I'd play the victim, shot dead in the cold open Time's up, don't be scared The future's got a room without a view in your own head Head down, no comment It's just a matter of opinion Don't let no one ever know about the burden that you're smuggling You dry your eyes at the gate to hide the struggling The stories that you're juggling The fear you must be funnelling Bury till you're burrowing Pain is such a funny thing No one needs to know about the burden that you're smuggling You dry your eyes at the gate to hide the struggling The stories that you're juggling The fear you must be funnelling Bury till you're burrowing Pain is such a funny thing So let them replicate my past success With casting from the same subset of men Whose fleeting failures are all they ever knew With a straight face beyond repair digging a grave of nil despair Between the crosshairs of a crop that never grew We pay no respect to common intellect And watch the insects suck the marrow from the bone For when we go back to our proper jobs and realise the laughter's stopped I need to know my chance was fully blown Don't let no one ever know about the burden that you're smuggling You dry your eyes at the gate to hide the struggling The stories that you're juggling The fear you must be funnelling Bury till you're burrowing Pain is such a funny thing No one needs to know about the burden that you're smuggling You dry your eyes at the gate to hide the struggling The stories that you're juggling The fear you must be funnelling Bury till you're burrowing Pain is such a funny thing Time's up, don't be scared Head down, no comment It's just a matter of opinion To the last syllable of recorded time And all our yesterdays have lighted fools the way to dusty death Out, out, brief candle Life's but a walking shadow A poor player that struts and frets his hour upon the stage And then is heard no more It is a tale told by an idiot Full of sound and fury, signifying nothing