CHORUS:
Who killed Amanda Palmer?
Who snatched her from our hearts?
Who stole away the best of us
To cleave the dream apart?
Who was it snuffed the candle?
Who damned us with that wrong?
Who plucked the flower before its bloom
Full ripened into song?
NARRATOR: (walking through the chorus to the front of the stage. He is reading to himself from a small black book of poetry. Then, suddenly he closes the book and addresses the audience.)
And so it starts: the sun goes down
And city wide and city bright
The buzzing of fluorescent lights
Outweighs the dark and moonless sky
And all the silent passions drowned
By daylight’s wilful sanity
And patience worn too thin, are free
To vent their pain about the town.
CHORUS:
They vent their pain about the town
They vent their pain about the town
Yes all the silent passions drowned
Now vent their pain about the town
NARRATOR: (raising his hands to the Heavens)
Some say this is the end of days
Of History, of God, of Art
Of honour and restraint, all passed
Betrayed by that essential “now”
And “want” and “me” and “greed” and “lust”:
Morality has lost its way
And we have drunk too much today.
(He looks down at the ground in despair)
CHORUS:
Oh we have drunk too much today
Yes we have drunk too much today
Morality has lost its way
For we have drunk too much today
NARRATOR: (Raising his forefinger to the audience)
Yet in that drunken overflow
That mad melee of lust and fight
That twists and scuffles, raining blows
Across the orange shadowed night
A gentle weeping found the heart
Of one whose sadness wandered by
And chanced upon a fearful sight:
(He staggers backwards, a look of shock in his eyes)
A little girl whose tears cried out
Amidst the city’s dreadful shout
For sympathy and kindliness
And other friends whose time was passed.
(Once again he turns his eyes to the ground in despair)
CHORUS:
All other friends whose time has passed
Another friend whose time has passed
Yes sympathy and kindliness
Are all good friends whose time has passed
NARRATOR: (gesturing towards stage left)
For there, beside her, at her feet
A crumpled mass of cloth and hair
And blood was pooling in the street
In silent gasps that found no air;
A person once, a woman, blest
With all the hopes of life to come,
Now chastened by the arms of Death
Cut short by hands whose dream was worth
But one more fix to help them numb
The pain of what they had become.
(He falls to his knees in an imitation of tragedy, his head in his hands)
CHORUS:
The pain of what they have become
The pain of what they have become
Just one more fix to help them numb
The pain of what they have become
NARRATOR: (still on his knees)
And as she wept, that little girl
Her tears did mingle with the blood
And dirt and cans and cigarette stubs
That choke the gutters with despair
At all that had been done to her
And all that would be done again
For every evil known to Men
Is found within those stinking slums
Those dismal streets, those dreary paths
That mark our culture’s epitaph.
CHORUS:
They mark our culture’s epitaph
They mark our culture’s epitaph
Those dismal streets and dreary paths
That mark our culture’s epitaph
...
