The Disillusionist

The Church

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    In autumn he comes to this town
    When the people's guard is down
    On a day like today
    Overcast and gray
    Bells were all ringing
    The birds stopped their singing
    The wind caught in the trees
    Screaming to be free

    He alights from the platform
    In his usual uniform
    His skin looks like he slept in it
    Or had something rotten kept in it
    And snakes stir in the thistles
    Back of cats neck bristles
    'Round vicious lips the fur is stained
    The disillusionist is back again

    They say that he's famous from the waist down
    But the top half of his body is a corpse
    His gold won't buy him sleep
    His poverty runs so deep
    In winter he cracks, in summer he warps

    Hang around the backstage door
    But he knows what you're waiting for
    You rub yourself against his fame
    Already ready to bear the blame
    He asks you "Did you like my show?"
    As if he really wants to know
    Then doesn't wait for your reply
    He just pulls you back inside

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    You've started feeling dizzy
    It isn't you or is he
    Persuade you mentally
    Undresses you incidentally
    Down the swaying corridor
    People you feel sorry for
    But when he puts the gaze on you
    You're amazed at what you'll let him do

    He can turn wine into water
    Mother against daughter
    Juggles busy deadlines
    Gets himself off headlines
    Surrounded by his minions
    Who never have opinions
    Performing little tricks for you
    Puts it in a fix for you

    Smashes your watch with a hammer
    Caresses you with camera
    And says the magic words
    That nobody's ever heard
    Now the slur is fading
    Reality all-pervading
    It only makes you want him more
    It only makes you fawn him more

    And he does the Indian rope trick
    The one that makes you seasick
    And he keeps on filling up your cup
    But you keep on filling up
    And some of it's done with mirrors
    And some of it's done with scissors
    And some of it's done with cables
    And his hands under the table

    It doesn't matter you want to believe
    It doesn't matter if you have to leave
    You won't escape his orbit
    And the things that you must forfeit
    And the audience seems familiar
    Some of them in particular
    Bet you they are his plants
    When he plays the game of chance

    He reads the minds of jilted girls
    And the story really unfurls
    Cast a fortune for the man in the suit
    Who's suffering is very acute
    There's a rabbit in his hat
    But I thought I smelled a rat

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