Well Daskarzine, she was pretty bland As she stretched out in the corner of the room She was Oh! so lazy with her pistol hand As her hair hung hot off the loom A redeyed Chicken felt like stepping in But his lines lacked their customary cool Her conversation flowed like treacle from a tin And Chicken felt like some kind of fool Oh Yeah! Her every move Is a lesson in street ballet And they speak her name in cheap hotels From Turkey to Marseillaise Seduction seems to hang in the dressingroom air But noone knows just whos seducing who She puts it out wave after wave And never seems to miss the slightest cue Outside in the wings The curtainboys cry lonely Their one true love is Daskarzine And for her theyll all die slowly Oh babe, she says, weve got to die sometime Its the sweetest thing we do Why not die from month to month With my touch to help you through Now Chicken left the room feeling angry and cold Young Stetson looked reluctant and lame Daskarzine had him neatly pidgeonholed And he was just clinging blindly to his name Im Stetson and I aint so bad, he kept on saying But his mind was trapped in some kind of cage He had failed at the ancient art of roleplaying And was fighting to leave the bleeding stage On the radio A tenor saxaphone Cries sweet jazz poetry And it breaks on Daskarzines facade Of false serenity
daskarzine, chicken, stetson, curtainboys, daskarzines