PWYC

You come to the door with your bleeding case of memories
There's room at the back for someone just like you
In the Cartesian theatre where everything is subjective -
Blame yourself for the obstructed view

We're all of a mind when it comes to good and evil
Except for the part where we define which is which
Tonight we're on the lookout for the villain - if you spot him
The heroine requests you hit the kill switch

(chorus)
There once was a man
Because of the voice
Who went to the sea
It took him away
He started change
And when he came back
They called him insane

You pay what you can

In the costume drama that I've scripted for your pleasure
I play my own understudy waiting for the day
When I can take my place behind the curtain in the darkness
And offer myself up to your gaze

You got your armchair lovers, your wheelchair intellectuals
Shouting me down up in the gods; they say I'm debased
Cue the sheet metal thunder, the tympani of my blood, though
The life that I've been leading is something less than chaste

(chorus)

Act 3. A decade hence. Interior by night.
A photo of the ruins of the theatre of my lust.
I would pay any price to see you on any stage
Be it in the round, proscenium, or thrust
And when the show is over and you file into the night
You mumble to the woman beside you: wasn't that a sight

You pay what you can