Trying to Unsubscribe (Take Me off The Gig List)

 

Nothing living can haunt

Nothing dead can hurt

/Backstage the audience are parents in(parenthesis)/Comedy is the cage/Jokes are the bars/ Painful memories are the tools/ /I am Black Beauty rearing Ugly Ducklings hoping for Frosty Jack to stop them in their tracks/Speaking through a gag in a telephone manner/ Deliberation is the killing time/

                                           ‘Give us a break’

/Advertising space/ Shot outside this solar system /Look at me/ Look at you/ Look out for witnesses/ As we loot the church hall/ What does the Owl see?/ Does it give a dirty-flannel- wrung out-damn?/ The only way to partake in this jam is sideways or maybe just straight on after all/ So give in your ticket stubs/ When you leave out the door you originally came in/And pull up your collar/ Ignoring the Orange & Green Punx/ Finally filing out of the side exit/ Filling the night with a luminosity/ That will forever stay with me

Now, call me old fashioned, call me romantic, but I’ve got a feeling that the gal who booked me for this gig—wavering the fee, because on the phone they made the point of saying it was for charity—was, and is, the fool I ‘d like to name & shame as me

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