Watching through the dust
 I'm trapped in a theatre of velvet [bad word] 
 With lonely shafts of light
 And other ghosts drinking refreshments that's served up by skeletons
 It's the spaces in the dark
 Where shadows of dead souls dance on the wall
 Where not only were you the star
 But you were the bleak soundtrack to my film noire
 Yeah that was you

 And it's my job to be
 embittered and constantly proving a mystery
 But we're dismal in the roles
 I'm scratchy and mono as Bogart
 And you are a sepia Monroe - 
 Who's beneath the cobwebs and the chandeliers
 With others who've been dead for years
 Like heroes brought to life again
 Like picture shows and Rocket-men
 And the light that fills the room
 Well it's the flicker from a paper moon
 And when the film [bad word] and through
 Well that's when the darkness must win