Manfredo, Manfredo, that was his name.

His magic was uncanny, his life was the same.

He lived in a house, bigger than mine.

Performing his magic, ten to nine.


One day he left to perform his work.

Wearing his top hat, cape and smirk.

Along the way, he tripped in his pace,

And fell on the ground, breaking his face.


Manfredo, Manfredo, that was his name.

His face was a mess, his head hanged in shame.

He was struck with worry, grief and sorrow.

What will he say to his friends tomorrow?


“An embarrassing moment,” Manfredo said.

Clutching his face as he lay in his bed.

“I was walking along, ‘til I tripped on a crack,”

“As I fell to the pavement, my face went ‘smack’.”


Manfredo, Manfredo, that was his name.

His anger was great like a raging flame.

He went back home to see his wife.

The couple got into a bit of a strife.


The couple’s marriage ended badly.

Manfredo wandered around, sulking sadly.

What in the world can Manfredo do?

Manfredo has nothing left to lose.


Manfredo, Manfredo, that was his name.

The idea of living was all but a game.

He took to the streets, sad and alone.

“What should I do?” Manfredo moaned.


Stopping at the bridge, Manfredo quivered.

He looked below, to see a river.

He stepped on the ledge, his vision was blurry.

He jumped off the ledge in quite a hurry.


Manfredo, Manfredo that was his name.

His life was short, his face was a shame.

He stepped on the ledge, despite his health.

He jumped off the ledge and killed himself.