Why use my eyes? The angry skies above this train aren’t raining any consolation. Your perfume still hangs on my clothes; your lips (and liquor) are just echoes of drunken desperation in the air last night. The more I muse, the more I find your love’s the only thing I can call true. But I act what I can’t feel, and so my life spins reel-to-reel; my own disaster in living color.
I strike a pose…sit back, relax and watch the show. Drum roll, the firing squad is set to go. My blindfold’s on in this vignette, I light my last prop cigarette, and pray you save me from my cardboard sunset.
Time flies by, again I try; scene 1, take 365 and I’ve seen all the staging. I stole my lines from Cary Grant, yeah Fred Astaire taught me to dance… I am Jack’s life imitating art…and yet your heart is mine to hold, to stay the cold. Your love’s the only thing I can call true. But frankly, Scarlet, I can’t speak (the dubbing’s off, the signal’s weak) and I’m left waiting for the set to fall…
I strike a pose…sit back, relax and watch the show. Drum roll, the firing squad is set to go. My blindfold’s on in this vignette, I light my last prop cigarette, and pray you save me from my cardboard sunset.
Oh what a movie this would be, a stylish hit whose wit and tactful ironic twists are served up dry. Oh, I just like the imagery: roses paint my whispers of affection and clouds weep with our every kiss goodbye.
I strike a pose…sit back, relax and watch the show. Drum roll, the firing squad is set to go. My blindfold’s on in this vignette, I light my last prop cigarette, and pray you save me from my cardboard sunset.
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