| They pulled the stars down one by one
|
| Hauled up the moon to shine upon
|
| A velvet curtain rising
|
| Now her puppet has cut his strings
|
| The footlights glare
|
| The trumpets blare
|
| Why is your face drawn on so glum, old chum
|
| Paintbrush dragging on a drum
|
| The rim shot on the punch line that you fumbled
|
| The crowd went home and left you
|
| For dead
|
| My old wooden head
|
| Took the thimble and the thread
|
| Choked back tears like a cymbal
|
| The breath is slow and shallow too
|
| The sky is bright Venetian blue
|
| The cardboard sun is all ablaze
|
| The air is painted Clifford Brown
|
| Caressing «Yesterdays»
|
| The steady gaze of your glass eye
|
| Head in a basket smiling still
|
| Free of will, free of wisdom
|
| Can’t feel my fingers anymore
|
| Can’t raise my hand and ask for more
|
| Dance my doll across the floor
|
| Or fire a flag from a pistol
|
| («Bang»)
|
| They pulled the stars down one by one
|
| Hauled up the moon to wish upon
|
| The puppet finally cut his strings
|
| And free at last from earthly things
|
| He’s dancing on the ceiling
|
| With a showgirl in a feather dress
|
| Time is meaningless
|
| We carried you on buckled limbs
|
| Through mournful airs and martyrs hymns
|
| Then one blue and one more yellow pill
|
| One keeps you quiet
|
| One keeps you still
|
| You sang «The Way You Looked Tonight»
|
| Your voice is ringing true and clear
|
| Then you wore them down like candlelight
|
| And in the darkness
|
| You’d best beware
|
| And in the darkness
|
| You’d best beware
|
| You’d best beware
|
| You’d best beware
|
| I used to love him
|
| When I used to care
|
| Canopy
|
| Satin trim
|
| Slowly closing
|
| The puppet has cut his strings |