What advantage does a mime have in all his work
Which he does under the sun?
It is like walking against the wind.
He pulls and pulls upon a rope
And to its increase there is no end.
Futility! It is like walking against the wind.
He may hammer with fury
He may saw with passion
He may drill with fevered pitch
But at the end of the day
His hands are empty
It is all futile.
A mime may stride continuously in place
From when the sun riseth to when it sets again
And may not have advanced a step.
Again, it is like walking against the wind.
A mime may walk up a staircase,
Hand upon rail, but he shall not increase
In his height nor vantage.
He might as well be walking against the wind.
He may eat, but gains no sustenance
He may sip through a straw
But finds no refreshment
His life is hollow and empty
It is like walking against the wind.
I have seen mimes trapped behind walls,
And inside walls of boxes, closets, and crates
And to their egress there comes no hope,
Until smaller and smaller it grows upon them.
All is futile.
I have seen all the silent works
Which have been done under the sun,
Driving cars, licking ice cream cones,
Blowing up balloons, walking dogs,
Traversing tightropes, riding bicycles,
Lighting campfires, juggling chainsaws,
And behold, all is futile
And like walking against the wind.
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Oh, but mime's the word, pinky promise.
I found the radio interview funny, but this, to me, this takes a far more serious tone. Maybe I’m just strange but what I see here are the unsaved masses. No matter what they do in life, in the end, all is vanity. Their works, their wealth, everything, it all comes to naught. In the end, like the mime, they accomplish nothing and are never again to be heard.
