I've got a face caked in makeup,

and sweat pooling in my palms.

I make last second prop checkups,

and nerves have me forgetting verses from Psalms. 

The curtain rises as the lights go up.

I approach center stage, collected and calm.

And there,

in the very back, sits my biggest fan.

The one with the cigarette, the proud old man.

During performances,

no one is able to hear his laughing.

But I swear, if he was there,

He would be the only one heard amongst the clapping.