They say that there's a broken light for every heart on Broadway...
They say that life's a game and then they take the board away.
They give you masks and costumes and an outline of the story...
Then leave you all to improvise their vicious cabaret.

In no longer pretty cities there are fingers in the kitties,
there are warrants, forms, and chitties and a jackboot on the stair...
There's sex and death and human grime in monochrome for one thin dime,
and at least the trains all run on time but they don't go anywhere.
Facing their responsibilities either on their backs or on their knees,
there are ladies who just simply freeze and dare not turn away...
And the widows who refuse to cry will be dressed in garter and bow-tie
and be taught to kick their legs up high in this vicious cabaret.

At last the 1998 show! The ballet on the burning stage! The documentary seen upon the fractured screen...
The dreadful poem scrawled upon the crumpled page!

There's a policeman with an honest soul that has seen whose head is on the pole
and he grunts and fills his briar bowl with a feeling of unease.
Then he briskly frisks the torn remains for a finger print of crimson stains
and endeavors to ignore the chains that he walks in to his knees.
While his master in the dark nearby inspects the hands with brutal eye
that have never brushed a lover's thigh but have squeezed a nation's throat...
And he hungers in his secret dreams for the harsh embrace of cruel machines.
But his lover is not what she seems and she will not leave a note.

At last, the 1998 show! The situation tragedy! Grand opera slick with soap! Cliff-hangers with no hope!
The water-colour in the flooded gallery.

There's a girl who'll push but not shove and is desperate for her father's love.
She believes the hand beneath the glove maybe one she needs to hold.
Though she doubts her hosts moralities she decides she is more at ease
In the Land Of Doing-As-You-Please than outside in the cold.
But the backdrop's peel and the sets give way and the cast get eaten by the play.
There's a murderer at the matinee, there are dead men in the aisles.
And the patrons and actors too are uncertain if the show is through
And with side-long looks await their cue...
...but the frozen mask just smiles.

At last! The 1998 Show! The torch-song no one ever sings! The curfew chorus line! The comedy divine!
The bulging eyes of puppets, strangled by their strings!

There's thrills and chills and girls galore, sing-songs and surprises!
There's something hear for everyone, reserve your seat today!

There's mischief and malarkies...
but no queers...
or yids...
or darkies...
Within this bastard's carnival-

This Vicious Cabaret!

This was written by Alan Moore, part of 'V for Vendetta' a graphic novel of his. Also, it appears to be recorded by David J of Bauhaus fame on his 'On The Glass: The Singles' Album.

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