This Vicious Cabaret

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