A winning show. One sees the mute

Get with child the mandrake root.

You think of the poor boy on the stair

Who, of course, was never there

Who, of course was then nowhere

And then you can see if you dare

That it is all quite debonair

And think I think I know I'm seeing

Myyself as an instance of Non-Being

And then reflect "Goddamn, that's true."

And then wonder "What are you?"

But it wouldn't matter if you knew.

It wouldn't matter if you knew.

Vaudeville transcends all love

You have a hat and just one glove

And perhaps a cane. It is enough!

You know we are the stuff

Dreams are made on. As was said

By some guy who finally went to bed

After all the shows and shows.

What vaudeville means...why no-one knows.

Love is love and love is nil

Without the thrill of vaudeville

When love is there why love has flown

And you discover you must dance alone

Not for yourself. Ah, that's the key

And is vaudeville's great mystery

You look out always from the stage

And hear the music and feel the rage

Of dancing always against death.

There! And this. You take a breath

And put out one foot and then another

Never wondering why you bother

You dance for you. You dance for her.

You dance and it does not occur

That as you dance you name your love

Or think of the paper moon above

You dance to live and love just then

To conquer where. To conquer when.

And because not to do that would soon kill

The human love that's vaudeville.