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 who 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
And he grunts and fills his briar bowl with a feeling of unease
Then he briskly frisks the torn remains for a fingerprint or crimson stains
And endevours to ignore the chins that he walks in to his knees
While 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
And he hungers in his secret dreams for the harsh embrace of cruel machines
But 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
She believes the hand beneath the glove maybe 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
But the backdrops peel and the sets give way and the cast get eaten by the play
There's a murderer at the Matinee, there are dead men in the aisles
And the patrons and the actors too are uncertain if the show is through
And with 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
There's something here for everyone, (reserve your seat today)
There's mischief and malarkies but no queers or yids or darkies
Within this bastard's carnival, this vicious cabaret!