It's the one thing I can't rehearse
The final act where I have no lines
Or watch the audience in the isles
Complain of my performance in the role
And sneer derision that he looks so old
All powdered up and decked in mould
For one day they'll stand at their own curtains end
Being chewed by the flowers of their final applause
So long to the critics I can't hear you judge
Your despondent analysis of my really great lead
The only lead I ever had
In a role that I was born to play
In a role that I was born uncertain
Sitting there won't be so lonely
All cushioned up in velvet lining
Draped in mahogany chesterfield sachet
Escorted somewhere near the Hamptons
I'll be lead by strong men in maître d' form
Perhaps a young splendor will pass me a glance
While I'm indisposed to my own private table
Starring with thoughts that can't see conclusion
They'll be other occupants arranged in their seats
No one will see the others fatigue
Celebrating forever at our retire leisure
In a Funeral for one
And party that's just begun