Lover of the black and white- it's your first night.
The Passion Play goes all the way-spoils your insight.
Tell me how the baby's made, how the lady's laid
Why the old dog howls in sadness.

And your little sister's immaculate virginity wings away on the bony
shoulders of a young horse named George who stole surreptitiously into
her geography revision.
The examining body examined her body.

Actor of the low-high Q, let's hear your view.
Peek at the lines upon your sleeve, since your memory won't do.
Tell me how the baby's graded, how the lady's faded
Why the old dogs howl with madness.

All of this and some of that's the only way to skin the cat.

And now you've lost a skin or two- you're for us and we for you.
The dressing room is right behind
We've got you taped, you're in the Play.
How does it feel to be in the Play?
How does it feel to play the Play?
How does it feel to be the Play?

Man of passion rise again, we won't cross you out.
For we do love you like a son, of that there's no doubt.
Tell us, is it you who are here for our good cheer?
Or are we here for the glory, for the story
For the gory satisfaction of telling you how absolutely awful you
really are?