27 Questions

When lost in wild rain there is nothing you can do When lost in city rain there is something you can do Take refuge wherever is marked "Admission Free" As we did one night back in late '43 I'd never seen the man on the poster before But my friend said he was a big star before the war The boy by the door, louder than a bomb All the way down the street, you heard his song "Roll up, roll up, tonight is the night Freddie Frost gives his last will live on stage Roll up, roll up for the show of a lifetime The doors open at quarter to eight" Sat in upholstery that once was brilliant We picked its loose stuffing and looked around There where duchesses and dukes, and beggars and pimps All sat side-by-side to watch his last grasp at life The grand centrepiece was a gold green sarcophagus Flanked either side by oil-painted pictures of the man First of all, a film to explain his lifelong dream Afterward the music started, and a young girl ran on with operatic screams Two hours went by and his sixty five daughters Who told through opera of his life's importance They sang of his exploits all over the Earth His likes and dislikes, his undoubtable worth And after a last crescendo where they all cried as one They hurried quickly off, but the music played on From within his sarcophagus rose a spot-lit withered hand Mister Frost emerged, and to the racing beat he danced With the vital energy of a newborn chimp He spun and he spun and he spun and he spun and spun Hopelessly wrinkled, and by no means thin He soon became dizzy, regained his composure And started to sing "Thank you for listening, I won't be too long Just twenty seven questions to finish this song Does there exist a marriage that can't survive castration? A future where a man can go a year without hydration? Is grass ever greener? Is the will really free? Is it only black you see when you join the deceased? Will I forever be a mediocrity? A hideous glut with trembling knees? In death will I see the girls of daydreams? Intangibly dressed, invisibly seamed? Will the sun burn out? Will my corpse grow a beard? Will my house be kept and my sperm be reared? My last shot at the big time, posthumous paste Will I find a home, or go to waste? In heaven do the morals of Earth still stand? Or can I bridge the gap twixt beast and man? Is there such a thing as a universal truth? Any lost secret to eternal youth? Do nuns fornicate and do scientists pray? Is a sin committed every moment of every day? That's not quite twenty seven But my chest feels awful tight So thank you for listening Good night, good night, good night!" Freddie Frost blew up to the size of a hot air balloon Red as all hellfire and loud as Satan's siren And he wheezed and moaned in pain as he rose But then we all just laughed at the sad, old oaf Laughed all the way home