Out beyond the darkened door
the stormy night did moan.
Here within the theater’s warmth
the audience, we all sat stoned. and
Up on stage the star was twinkling,
twinkling to the last…
but no-one cared, ‘cause all we heard
were echoes from the past.
It was the final curtain, yeah
the final curtain call.
The cast were strewn across the stage,
the plot had killed them all.
The hero stood there all alone,
a dead mike in his hand,
shuffling through the vacuum
that once had been his band.
Well, all the fierce had fallen, and all the soft had fled,
and in the wings the carnage where a frightful fiend had fed.
And here the stalls are emptying, and the show takes to the street…
and, leaving all and everything to chance,
out beyond the darkened door we dance.
The scenery had been a city
with buildings grand and proud;
but now the wind in from the street
was blowing fierce and loud,
and all the backdrop, torn in strips,
just sailed out through the door…
a fitting sentence on a script
that merited no more.
We knew the show was over…
there couldn’t be no doubt.
The mystery, the only one,
was why we’d stuck it out.
Years and years of waiting,
waiting to see the light…
with all the other houses closed,
and outside, just the night.
We took the high street dancing;
we set the town alight.
The ashes of our credit cards
flew past us in the night.
I thought I saw the fallen star,
maddened and alone,
searching for his old guitar
in the zero zone.