{a/n- i'm bored, and i can't sleep. Ha. Beware.}
The pulse is throbbing
We move to the beat
Counting carefully
Lifting our feet
Not moving an eye from the FC
She's got the glitz, she's got the glow
But can she lead us through the damn show?
No, the horn lines dying
The drum line lost the beat
There goes our chance for surviving
The stand and play's coming up, maybe then, maybe now
No, no! Our show went to hell in a hand basket and no one knows how.
After the first song, there's mental cursing, mental screaming
Now comes horns up, we all feel like fleeing
Instead we pull it together, stick our chins in the air and march
We weren't the best tonight, but soon we'll be eating under the Golden Arch
The director yells, veins throbbing, voice louder every now and then
Chill down, relax, my man, no way to do it all over again
We'll do better next time, just give us another go
But each time after that, we'll remember
The Worst Show