Balthazar, Impresario

My name is Balthazar, Impresario

And you'll find me at the bottom of the page

I have artist's hands, though I'm a working man

But my craft has been forgotten by the age

So tonight will be my last night on the stage

This is my family's trade, my father built this place

At the turning of the twentieth century

I have been working here, for some fifty years

But the young these days are glued to TV screens

And the old girl is dying on her feet

Once more to the boards

One more curtain call

Give the crowd everything they're asking for and more

Always make them laugh

Try to make them cry

Always take the stage like it's the last night of your life

My friends from theatre school all thought I was a fool

For leaving Shakespeare for the music hall

And now my son's left home, and set out on his own

And the critics think we're quaint but set to fall

But they've only seen the show from the stalls

Once more to the boards

One more curtain call

Give the crowd everything they're asking for and more

Always make them laugh

Try to make them cry

Always take the stage like it's the last night of your life

And all the things I've seen behind these tattered seams

And all the upturned faces with the lamplight in their eyes

And each imperfect turn flickers as it burns

Only lasts a moment but for me they'll never die

We are respected

We're not remembered

We are the ghosts of Vaudeville

Unnumbered

We are the fathers of the halls

Yeah but we'll never be famous

We aren't just artists, we are something more:

We're entertainers

I smooth my thinning hair in a gilded mirror

To try to hide the tell-signs of my age

My name is Balthazar, Impresario

And tonight will be my last night on the stage.