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When footlights dim in reverence, to prescient passion |
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Forewarned my audience leaves the stage |
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Floating ahead, perfumed shift, within the stammering silence |
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The face that launched a thousand frames |
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Betrayed by a porcelain tear, a stained career |
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You played this scene before |
|
You played this scene before |
|
I the mote in your eye, eye, eye, eye |
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I the mote in your eye |
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A misplaced reaction, reaction |
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The darkroom unleashes imagination |
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In pornographic images, in which you will always be the star |
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Untouchable, unapproachable, constant in a darkness, in a darkness |
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Nursing an erection, a misplaced reaction |
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With no flower to place, before this gravestone |
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And the walls become enticingly newspaper thin |
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But that would only be developing the negative view |
|
And you have to be exposed in voyeuristic color, the public act |
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Let you model your shame on the mannequin catwalk, catwalk |
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Let the cats walk, and the cat walks |
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I've played this scene before |
|
I've played this scene before |
|
I the mote in your eye, eye, eye, eye |
|
I the mote in your eye |
|
A misplaced reaction, satisfaction |
|
You can't brush me under the carpet |
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You can't hide me under the stairs |
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The custodian of your private fears |
|
You're leading actor of yesteryear |
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Who as you crawled out of the alleys of obscurity |
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Sentenced to rejection in the morass of anonymity |
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You, who I directed with the lovers will |
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You, who I let hypnotize the lens |
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You, who I let bathe in the spotlights glare |
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You, who wiped me from your memory |
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Like a greasepaint mask |
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Just like a greasepaint mask, a mask |
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But now, I'm the snake in the grass |
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The ghost of film reels past |
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I'm the producer of your nightmare |
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And the performance has just begun |
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It's just begun, begun, it's just begun |
|
Your perimeter of courtiers jerk like celluloid puppets |
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As you stutter paralyzed with rabbits eyes |
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Searing the shadows, flooding the wings |
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To pluck elusive salvation from the understudy's lips |
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Retrieve the soliloquy, maintain the obituary |
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My cue line in the last act |
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And you wait in silent solitude, waiting for the prompt |
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Waiting for the prompt |
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Waiting for the prompt |
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Waiting for the prompt |
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Waiting for the prompt |
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Waiting for the prompt |
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You've played this scene before |
