The glinting, glistening crowd

Are banging at my door,

Demanding satisfaction;

They know my weaknesses, of course.

Cagey, I hide in the basement

And plead a prior engagement,

But they will come tomorrow,

And they day after that;

And the public mood, for what it’s worth,

Is on their side.

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The Grand Old Man of town,

He makes his films and cries:

The scenes contain no love,

No hope, no joy – just lies.

He’s had to do a deal

And play their dirty games,

Although until this day

He does not know their names.

The power of his dreams

Has been reduced to dust;

He’s had to tow the line

To earn himself a crust.

And in a year or two

The wor...

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