I Have No Title for this One. I'm Open to Suggestions

O Theatre, you are the stage of dreams;

in your wooden O, there are no limits

but ourselves ( and the strength of our beams),

all might happen here so we’ll not be timid.

Here, our country is Imagi Nation,

and our sole laws are thought and fantasy,

our soldiers are armed with fascination,

and our taxes are audiences fancy.

Theatre though, at times you are cold,

sending us out starving, cold and alone,

but never for long and soon the fight’s old,

so once again you’ll spend us down to the bone.

         So we the sufferers of your cruelty

         are forever by slavery set free.