If it was in Italian, I wouldn't understand the words anyway.

My fingertips smell of stale coffee and peppermint.

If only my life could be an opera buffa.

I'd like to be the soprano, but one can't always be the soprano.

Someone has to be the mezzo soprano.

So perhaps I should accept my lot in this opera of life;
however, I think that tomorrow I may try out for the soprano's role.
I might be the perfect fit for the role this time around.