It was a Saturday like every other weekend,
The sound of music floating slowly through the heath end,
He sleeps in late to forget the night before.
And though the tour bus doesn’t leave until the morning,
He’ll play a show to the crowd and they’ll adore him,
He’s getting up to get down.
And though he’s played it a thousand times,
And always shines to those who come to see,
A little bit inside has died a thousands time before.
It isn’t easy,
It used to be easy.
But the Showman, the Showman has his issues,
Prozac, DVD’s and tissues,
It not much but it’s a living, living on a knife-edge.
But the Showman, the Showman has his issues,
Prozac, DVD’s and tissues,
It isn’t easy.
It’s the silence amongst a 1,000 people,
He can feel his breathing become feeble,
He lets the crowd sing the lines they’d come to hear,
And as he leaves the stage, he’s almost finished
The line of people don’t see his soul diminish,
He’s getting down just to shoot up.
And though he’s done it a thousand times,
It always shines to those who come to see,
A little bit inside has died a thousands time before.
It isn’t easy,
It used to be easy.
But the Showman, the Showman has his issues,
Prozac, DVD’s and tissues,
It not much but it’s a living, living on a knife-edge.
But the Showman, the Showman has his issues,
Prozac, DVD’s and tissues,
It isn’t easy any more.
___________________________
Scratch recording of the song is here
This song was commissioned by Simon Heeley thanks to his suggestion for something for me to do this afternoon…
