When the average man and his average wife
Come away from a night at the theatre
Do they give half a damn for the maddening life
That is often the lot of its creators
They're blissfully unaware
Of the burden you have to bear
When you put on a wig and step into the lights
And you hope your reception is clamorous
But you sweat like a pig in some filthy old tights
In a futile attempt to be glamorous
You miss every other cue
And stagger off black and blue
As you sob in the wings, there's only one thing you can do . . .
THINK OF THE SHOW, DEAR HEARTS!
YES, THE SHOW MUST GO ON
AND THOUGH IT'S A TALE OF WOE
FROM SYDENHAM TO CEYLON
(FROM SUNDERLAND TO SAIGON)
(FROM COVENTRY TO CANTON)
WHEREVER A LIGHT IS SHONE
A PLAYER MUST PLAY, OR WHAT'LL THEY SAY
WHEN WE'RE ALL GONE
When you're thinking at least you can dress like a king
And indulge in the sin they call vanity
But you look like a beast in some battered old thing
With an odour than threatens your sanity
The audience shouts hooray
But they're forty feet away!
Then you wait for the swell of a nautical storm
But hear only clippety-cloppety
From coconut shells, rather badly performed
By the man from Theatrical Properties
And much as it hurts to hear
He's rather the worse for beer
And there's only one course that can give you a morsel of cheer . . .
Ev'ry actor possesses the soul of a saint
And a marvellous mind analytical
One never professes to practice restraint
In propounding positions political
A play, you must pay to see
But we proffer advice for free!
For with all that we suffer, and all of the tears
In a life in professions theatrical
One has to be tougher than first it appears
And an actor is perfectly practical
A rational world would say
An actor should lead the way
But until it comes true, there's nothing to do but to pray . . .