Incubus

We're going to take a little journey back into the graveyard of the spades (*snork snork*)
And you pull out the coffin
We open up the coffin rr-rr-rr-rr
Oh shit
And inside the coffin
Are lots of er-her-her
Sa-her-her-her
No no, let's not get into that one
Inside the coffin, get back into character
Find a lot of polaroid photographs, Fiesta magazines
Our Wives columns
A-ha-ha-ha-haaa!
And the bones of a very old creature
Back from nineteen eighty three
And the creature goes by the name of
Ze Incubus.

You ready?

Oooh yeah

Ooh wah
Ooh wah

When footlights
Dim in reverence
To prescient passion
Forewarned my audience leaves the stage
Floating ahead
Perfumed shift within the stammering silence
The face that launched a thousand frames betrayed
By a porcelain tear
A stained career

C'mon
Louder

You played
This scene before
You played
This scene before
I the mote in your eye, eye, eye, eye
I the mote in your eye
A misplaced reaction
Reaction

All right

The darkroom
Unleashes imagination
In pornographic images
In which you will always be the star
Untouchable
Oh unapproachable
Constant in the darkness
In the darkness
Nursing an erection
A misplaced reaction
With no flower to place before this gravestone
And the walls become enticingly newspaper thin
But that only would be developing the negative view
And you have to be exposed in voyeuristic colour
Oh the public act
Let you model your shame on the mannequin catwalk, catwalk
Let the cats walk
Oh, and this cat walks

Oh-ah

I've played this scene before
I've played this scene before
I the mote in your eye, eye, eye, eye
I the mote in your eye
A misplaced reaction, satisfaction

An irritating speck of dust that came from absolutely nowhere

You can't brush me under the carpet, you can't hide me under the stairs
The custodian of your private fears, your leading actor of yesteryear
Who as you crawled out of the alleys of obscurity
Sentenced to rejection in the morass of anonymity
You who I directed with lovers will
You who I let hypnotise the lens
You who I let bathe in the spotlights glare
You who wiped me from your memory like a greasepaint mask
Just like a greasepaint mask

But now I'm the snake in the grass, the ghost of filmreels past
I'm the producer of your nightmare and the performance has just begun
It's just begun, it's just begun

Your perimeter of courtiers jerk like celluloid puppets
As you stutter paralysed with rabbits eyes, searing the shadows
Flooding the wings, to pluck elusive salvation from the understudy's lips
Retrieve the soliloque, maintain the obituary
My cue line in the last act and you wait in silent solitude
Waiting for the prompt, waiting for the prompt

You've played this scene before