Hard Times

Step up, young one

The show’s about to start.

Take your seat beside the chairs and chairmen

They’re eager to see you perform your latest hits

The one-hit-wonders, the fifteen-minutes-of-fame, or the seventeen-seconds-of-disaster

As soon as your name is called step up, sweet lass,

Glance at the endless ceiling, the painted windows,

The gentlemen and ladies dressed in black and white

Blouses and dresses, suits and ties, shirts and briefs

What a show we have for you tonight, says the

Chairman to his chairlady and yourself, chin up.

You’ve been through hard times, he says, you’ve really

Gone so far in life. What a treat we have for you

All tonight.

A last glance at the ceiling holds no solace

To the uncomfortable one with her hands tied

By monkey-rope.

The audience appears shrouded in a fog

As dense as the chairmen.

You wrestle with the concepts of immortality

Invincibility invulnerability immunity intrepidity

And indefatigable virtue before resting on


You’ve been through hard times says the chairman

But he’s so dense – he knows not the lock and key

Holding your mouth shut, your hands tied,

And you begin to sing.



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