| They say that there’s a broken light for every heart on Broadway
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| They say that life’s a game, then they take the board away
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| They give you masks and costumes and an outline of the story
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| Then leave you all to improvise their vicious cabaret…
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| In no-longer-pretty cities there are fingers in the kitties
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| There are warrants, forms, and chitties and a jackboot on the stair
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| Sex and death and human grime, in monochrome for one thin dime
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| At least the trains all run on time but they don’t go anywhere
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| Facing their responsibilities, either on their backs or on their knees
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| There are ladies who just simply freeze and dare not turn away
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| And the widows who refuse to cry will be dressed in garter and bow-tie
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| And be taught to kick their legs up high in this vicious cabaret
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| At last! |
| The 1998 Show!
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| The ballet on the burning stage
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| The documentary seen
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| Upon the fractured screen
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| The dreadful poem scrawled upon the crumpled page…
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| There’s a policeman with an honest soul that has seen whose head is on the pole
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| And he grunts and fills his briar bowl with a feeling of unease
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| Then he briskly frisks the torn remains for a fingerprint or crimson stains
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| And endevours to ignore the chins that he walks in to his knees
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| While his master in the dark nearby inspects the hands, with brutal eye
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| That have never brushed a lover’s thigh but have squeezed a nation’s throat
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| And he hungers in his secret dreams for the harsh embrace of cruel machines
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| But his lover is not what she seems and she will not leave a note
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| At last! |
| The 1998 Show!
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| The Situation Tragedy
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| Grand Opera slick with soap
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| Cliffhangers with no hope
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| The water-colour in the flooded gallery…
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| There’s a girl who’ll push but will not shove and she’s desperate for her
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| father’s love
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| She believes the hand beneath the glove maybe one she needs to hold
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| Though she doubts her host’s moralities she decides she is more at ease
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| In the Land Of Doing-As-You-Please than outside in the cold
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| But the backdrops peel and the sets give way and the cast get eaten by the play
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| There’s a murderer at the Matinee, there are dead men in the aisles
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| And the patrons and the actors too are uncertain if the show is through
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| And with side-long looks await their cue but the frozen mask just smiles
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| At last! |
| The 1998 Show!
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| The torch-song no one ever sings
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| The curfew chorus line
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| The comedy divine
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| The bulging eyes of puppets strangled by their strings
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| There’s thrills and chills and girls galore, sing-songs and surprises
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| There’s something hear for everyone, (reserve your seat today)
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| There’s mischief and malarkies but no queers or yids or darkies
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| Within this bastard’s carnival, this vicious cabaret! |