| The old magician takes the stage
|
| His act has not improved with age
|
| Observe the shabby hat and gloves
|
| The tired act that no-one loves
|
| There was a time he produced doves
|
| A mirror and a puff of smoke
|
| His mysteries are now a joke
|
| His poor assistant black and blue
|
| She’s tired of being sawn in two
|
| She’s tired of being sawn in two
|
| Hidden trapdoor, velvet cape
|
| Still, from death there’s no escape
|
| Words of sympathy and tact
|
| Only underline the fact
|
| Death is a lousy disappearing act
|
| Lord have mercy and be kind
|
| When our faculties unwind
|
| Overlook the hat and gloves
|
| The tired act that no-one loves
|
| There was a time we produced doves
|
| Overlook the hat and gloves
|
| The tired act that no-one loves
|
| There was a time we produced doves
|
| The old magician takes the stage
|
| With sleight of hand he’ll disengage
|
| As dignified as you’ll allow
|
| He’ll take his last, his final bow
|
| He’s lost all his illusions now
|
| As dignified as you’ll allow
|
| He’ll take one last, one final bow
|
| He’s lost all his illusions now |