Disclaimer: Queenie and Burrs do not belong to me, but instead to Joseph March, although these particular sketches of the characters belong to Andrew Lippa.
A note of explanation: The Wild Party is a novel-length poem about a Vaudeville dancer, Queenie, and her turbulent relationship with her abusive lover, Burrs.
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"Queenie was a blonde,
And her age stood still,
And she danced twice a day in Vaudeville.
Queenie was a blonde,
And if looks could kill,
She would kill twice a day in Vaudeville."
-Joseph March, "The Wild Party"
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She's known throughout the city,
As a spotlight, in her dance.
With a flutter of her eyes,
Take a number, take a chance.
She's known throughout the city,
As the goddess of men's love.
Who fell breaking the only rule,
Never fall in love.
Night becomes, moonlight becomes her,
Wind becomes her face.
Springs of past, and winters last,
Witness her fluid grace.
His laugh becomes, his breath becomes,
The fire in her lips.
The shadows in his eyes become,
The outline of her hips.
Praise becomes her, rays of light,
Caress her white-faced frame.
"Slight" and "pure", to drive men mad,
Her act precedes her name.
Hurt becomes her, dirt becomes,
The liquor in his rage.
With gin, his only solace,
And love, her only cage.
A stinging slap, to show how far,
Into the dust she fell.
A rough embrace, a weeping face,
To tell her she's in Hell.
Beneath him, facing him with,
More strength than she can say.
When she departs, she sees that,
She must find another way.
The days will pass, and May won't last,
His hand will brush her face.
His kiss will plead, and she will heed,
This temporary grace.
Eyes hold her still, enfold her still,
She can't tell what makes her stay.
Who's wrong, who's right? Perhaps one night,
Perhaps she'll know one day.
Light becomes her, night becomes her,
Wind becomes her face.
Springs of past, and winters last,
Witness her eternal grace.
With every love, there comes a price,
Or so the saying lies.
Perhaps one Vaudeville night they'll whisper,
"Hell becomes her eyes."