(It Ain’t) The Real Thing

There’s a Big Top down by the river
With a Ringmaster calling the tune.
There’s a Death Squad all set to deliver
Their rendition of Darkness At Noon.

And the crowd holds its breath like we’re dicing with death
As the lion-tamer steps in the ring,
And the old lion roars – it’s got teeth, it’s got claws
But it ain’t… but it ain’t…
but it ain’t the Real Thing.

There’s a world where the ugly get airbrushed
Where the gym-slip models get smacked
It’s a world where the careless get ambushed
And the mirrors in their houses get cracked.

Then the scorpion broaches and bracelets
Come alive and go for the Sting,
It’s got Violence and Sex and Special FX
But it ain’t… but it ain’t…
but it ain’t the Real Thing.

There’s a wind blowing in from the prairie
And a Wolfman who howls at the moon.
There’s a poisonous Sugar Plum Fairy
And The Creature From The Black Lagoon.

There’s a post-modern footballer poet
With the logo etched in his skin.
He’s a dead man who doesn’t yet know it.
He’s still waiting for the show to begin.

But the stage is filling up with Fat Ladies
All of them bustin’ to sing.
It’s got thrills. It’s got chills. And it’s Dressed To Kill
But it ain’t … but it ain’t…
but it ain’t the Real Thing

It ain’t
the Real Thing.

John Constable aka John Crow

 


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