They say that there's a broken light for every heart on 
Broadway. 
They say that life's a game, 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 
kitties. 
There are warrants, forms, and chitties and a jackboot 
on the stair. 
Sex and death and human grime, in monochrome for one 
thin dime, 
But 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 that 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 see 
Upon the fractured screen 
The dreadful poem scrwled 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. 
But he briskly frisks the torn remains for a 
fingerprint or crimson stains 
And endevours to ignore the chins that he walks in to 
his knees. 
while his master in the dark nearby inspects the hands, 
with a brutal eye, 
That have never brushed a lover's thigh but have 
squeezed a nation's throat. 
But 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 
Cliffhangers 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 What You Please than outside in 
the cold. 
But the backdrop's peel and the sets give way and the 
cast gets 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.