Its just a bad movie, where theres no crying
handing the key to me in this Red Lion,
where the lock that you locked in the suite says theres no prying.
When the breath that you breathed in the street screams theres no science.
When you look how you looked then to me, then I cease lying and fall into silence.

Its just a life story, so theres no climax.
No more new territory, so pull away the imax.
In the slot that you sliced through the scene there was no shyness.
In the plot that you passed through your teeth there was no pity.
No fade in: film begins on a kid in the big city.
And no cut to a costly parade (thats for him only!).
No dissolve to a sliver of grey (thats his new lady!)
where she glows just like grain on the flickering pane of some great movie.

Its just a house burning, but its not haunted.
It was your heart hurting, but not for long, kid.
In the socket you spin from with ease there is no sticking.
From the speakers your fake masterpiece is serenely dribbling.
When the air around your chair fills with heat, thats the flames licking
beneath the clock on the clean mantelpiece. Its got a calm clicking,
like a pro at his editing suite takes two weeks stitching up some bad movie.