It seems that the old-time "magic show" is experiencing something of a renaissance, especially in the visual mass media. Even so, I doubt its fundamental attraction will alter one iota. The gap between acclaim and scorn is still wafer-thin.
Pay attention, dear reader, and I'll weave a magic vein,
where rabbits live in top hats and assistants float in air,
where ladies change to tigers and handcuffs don't restrain,
and there has to be a reason for the madness of my stare;
but I'll never disappoint because
I'm never, ever … there.
Yes, I'm your friendly sorcerer, and I deal in deeds perceived;
no reasoning can hold me, no alchemy ionize.
Please tell me when you see me, believe in make-believe,
and don't be fear'd of visions, for they'll tell you only lies;
since all I'll do is disappear
before your eyes.
I'm a fraudster and a faker, yes, you knew it all along:
how I love to see confusion, doubt, and disbelief
when I fly, and when I'm – gone!
The art is in the timing, the flash of reality's thief,
as I deceive and then convince you
that the devil's on the hoof.
But like you I'm just a fragile thing,
for me the living's hard:
I'll take a coin from behind your ear (you'll never see it coming)
but I know just where you're looking, and why you missed that card ...
Yes, the magic's in the sleight of hand,
The rhythm of its drumming, drumming ….