The fire-breathing Rebels arrive at the party early,
|
Their khaki coats are hung in the closet near the fur.
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Asking handouts from the ladies, while they criticize the lords.
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Boasting of the murder of the very hands that pour.
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And the victims learn to giggle, for at least they are not bored.
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And my shoulders had to shrug
|
As I crawl beneath the rug
|
And retune my piano.
|
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The Hostess is enormous, she fills the room with perfume,
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She meets the guests and smothers them with greetings.
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And she asks "how are you" as she offers them a drink,
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The Countess of the social grace, who never seems to blink.
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And she promises to talk to you, if you promise not to think.
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And my shoulders had to shrug, as I crawled beneath the rug
|
And retuned my piano.
|
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The Beauty of the hour is blazing in the present,
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She surrounds herself with those who would surrender.
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Floating in her flattery she's a trophy-prize, caressed.
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Protected by a pretty face, sometimes cursed, sometimes blessed.
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And she's staring down their desires, while they're staring down her dress.
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And my shoulders had to shrug
|
As I crawl beneath the rug
|
And retune my piano.
|
|
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The egos shine like lightbulbs, so bright you cannot see them,
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Blind each other blinder than a sandbox.
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All the fury of an argument, holding back their yawns,
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A challenge shakes the chandliers, the selfish swords are drawn.
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To the loser go the hangups, to the victor go the hangers on.
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And my shoulders had to shrug
|
As I crawl beneath the rug
|
And retune my piano.
|
|
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They travel to the table, the host is served for supper,
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And they pass each other down for salt and pepper.
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And the conversation sparkles as their wits are dipped in wine,
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Dinosaurs on a diet, on each other they will dine.
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Then they pick their teeth and they squelch a belch saying:
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"Darling you tasted divine."
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And my shoulders had to shrug
|
As I crawl beneath the rug
|
And retune my piano.
|
|
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The Wallflower is waiting, she hides behind composure.
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She'd love to dance and prays that no one asks her.
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Then she steals a glance at lovers while her fingers tease her hair.
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And she marvels at the confidence of those who hide their fears.
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Then her eyes are closed as she rides away with a foreign legionaire.
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And my shoulders had to shrug
|
As I crawl beneath the rug
|
And retune my piano.
|
|
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Romeo is reeling, counting notches on his thighbone,
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Searching for one hundred and eleven.
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And he's charming as a cherub as he leads you to his web,
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Seducing queens and gypsy girls in the boudoir of his head.
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Then he wraps himself with a tablecloth and pretends he is a bed.
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And my shoulders had to shrug
|
As I crawl beneath the rug
|
And retune my piano.
|
|
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The party must be over, even the Losers are leaving.
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But just one doubt is nagging at my caustic mind:
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So I snuck up close behind me and I gave myself a kiss,
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And I led myself to the mirror to expose what I had missed.
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There I saw a laughing maniac who was writing songs like this.
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And my shoulders had to shrug
|
As I crawl beneath the rug
|
And retune my piano.
|
|
-----------------
|
The Party
|
| Phil Ochs |
