Critique Oblique

Lover of the black and white it's your first night
The Passion Play, goes all the way, spoils your insight
Tell me how the baby's made, how the lady's laid
Why the old dog howls in sadness

And your little sister's immaculate virginity wings away
On the bony shoulders of a young horse named George
Who stole surreptitiously into her geography revision
(The examining body examined her body.)

Actor of the low-high Q, let's hear your view
Peek at the lines upon your sleeves since your memory won't do
Tell me: How the baby's graded, how the lady's faded
Why the old dogs howl with madness

All of this and some of that's the only way to skin the cat
And now you've lost a skin or two, you're for us and we for you
The dressing room is right behind
We've got you taped, you're in the play
How does it feel to be in the play?
How does it feel to play the play?
How does it feel to be the play?

Man of passion rise again, we won't cross you out
For we do love you like a son, of that there's no doubt
Tell us: Is it you who are here for our good cheer?
Or are we here for the glory, for the story, for the gory satisfaction
Of telling you how absolutely awful you really are?