The dancer has no rhythm,
the tenor hates the song,
the actors are rewriting,
and the whole thing runs too long.
Forget the wage, I love the stage,
if and when the public's pleased,
the loves, the loss, those saucy plots
with chorus lines of sans culottes.
The director likes a spot of gin
now and again... and agin... andagin,
and the leading lady, such a star,
prefers to open at the bar.
Forget the wage, I love the stage,
if and when the public's pleased,
the words, the thoughts, those plotless plots,
and Beckett for the polyglots.
The scenery’s too hard to build
and half the seats are never filled,
three marriages are on the rocks
with dressing rooms that have no locks.
Forget the wage, I love the stage,
if and when the public's pleased,
the scenes, the shocks, that touching plot
where all the world's a well-penned thought.
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