Lyrics Manipulation - Andrew Lloyd Webber, Charlotte Spencer, Charlotte Blackledge

Manipulation

This is a world
Where there’s all kinds of pressures
Where everybody’s anxious
And desprate for remedis
I use my hands to alleviate suffering
Slowly but surely, I massage your cares away
Aches and pains and fractures and sprains
Manipulation — that’s what I do
Lumps and knots and bruises and clots
Manipulation
Doesn’t sound very nice
It isn’t
Take a look
At everyone here
Manipulation
That’s what they do
I stretch limbs
And they stretch the truth
Manipulation
(He smiles and lights a cigarette, not offering one to anybody. CHRISTINE sips
at her vodka, makes a face.)
Never fancied Russia much
Russia is beautiful, and home of greatest social experiment in history!
Wouldn’t suit me at all
So, important to make friends, Russia and West.
Otherwise…
(Makes a sound and gesture signifying a massive explosion.)
(to WARD)
What did you mean about manipulation?(?)
You’ve heard of the Kray twins?(?)
Sort of
Well, there they are
Two of the most powerful men in London
But what do they do?
They’re gangsters
They have the police and the politicians in their pocket.
Even Harold Macmillan,
did he but know it
Who?
(pause)
Harold Macmillan, dear?
The Prime Minister?
(He draws on his cigarette, as MANDY discreetly stares at the twins.)
There at that table
The Kray twins are plotting
With Ronnie’s new boyfriend
Lord Boothby of Aberdeen
Also the lover of Lady Macmillan
Who we must assume
Is close to the Prime Minister
Ron and Reggie want something done
Bob Boothby breathes in Lady M’s ear
Lady M sleeps with the PM
Manipulation — it’s right here
Every table there’s someone at it
(He points at a table in the back.)
That chap in the Savile Row suit
That’s Charlie Clore, the entrepreneur
Built the Hilton
Mad about sex
Didn’t they just make him a sir?
Yes, but he was not at all pleased
Lord Clore’s more what he had in mind
Bloody hell, the people you know!
Don’t suppose he’s the marrying kind?
(WARD points over to RACHMAN’s table.)
That fat fellow
Rachman’s his name
Owns two-thirds
Of Notting Hill Gate
He’s the king
Of bedsitter-land
Manipulation
I only try
To manipulate bodies
I try to put people together and rescue them
I don’t approve of exploiting the vulnerable
Lining your pockets from other men’s weaknesses
Everywhere, wherever you look
Manipulation rearing its head
London life, there is no escape
Manipulation
I know what you’re talking about
Manipulation, just like you said
I spent every evening with men
Trying to sweet-talk me into bed
Everywhere, wherever you look
Manipulation rearing its head
London life, there is no escape
Manipulation
Everywhere, wherever you look
Manipulation rearing its head
London life, there is no escape
Manipulation
Til you’re dead