All the clocks have stopped
And the cardinals walk
Upon the court of the cock
And the Bull that talks
And we can't shut up the shop
Nor lock up the criminals who balk
At all the broken cups
That they drink from or tap with a fork
I thought you said you loved me
She said from behind the bars
But I was serving pastries
To pasty faced movie stars
And she was cleaning their apartments
And refilling their cars
As we talked of Hollywood departments
And walked down their boulevards
I thought you said you loved the silver screen display
That was better than make believe
Better than man made of clay
Even God appears there shifting behind the scenes
He's in the prison of the camera
That we capture and hold in our dreams
Jesus is failing as an extra,
he's been to two auditions
But the terminator director
Won't even cast him in an impossible mission
He's left kicking rocks in the parking lot
Collecting tips for parking actors' cars
Who once thought they'd seen him in a musical
Where he played some superstar
I faced into the distance,
And shook my fist at the storm
And said why must it end like this?
Oh lord I am tired of feeling so worn
And cursing the apocalypse
The Zombie actors come out on parade
They've heard there was a calypso line
For eclipsed actors who never get paid
And sure enough they all turned up
On set the very next day
They'd lost a lot of their make up
And their hair was turning grey
So they stepped back inside the prison
And the camera took off fifty years
They said now we look good by comparison
To the summation of all our fears
Suddenly from the distance a footballer turned up
Dribbling his ball, through all the holes
As if at the Ryder cup
Someone said its Schumacher another it was Lewis Hamilton
But I knew for sure by his quick draw
That I was looking at Harrison ford
Jack Nicholson, took for advantage
A cake from the jaws of a lion
And shaking his mane, he said with some shame
That he wished he were Jenson Button
The flying ducks were caught out over the ninth hole
And eight weeks later, a great alligator
Was shot on the white House Lawn
A fishing he had been in Florida
A concertina kissed
The clouds they part, for those departed
On the rise of the steamy knoll
If anyone can control him
Perhaps his uncle should know
About all the conflagrations burning up in his soul
And if one artist, could talk to a skull
What would be said, from inside that head
And the reasons for the role call?
Similar if not for Schwarzenegger the whole
cast would have gone berserk
With unexpected losses, and time spent off work
And perhaps if their forefathers had known them
They would have signed a farewell to arms
But with the heroes going down to zero
Nobody is falling for their charms
And what if anything can be answered by
The legend of the gun-touting fool?
You've got to stick it to the man
Who made you in his image as his tool
