Holder and Susette went to the comic opera,
I sat not far from them.
I watched, they counted hundreds of burning candles,

Bent-up props and missed cues for hours and hours.
Oh hours, I'll forgo the small talk and get to the part you'll undo:
They stood last when it was time for the encore.

I told you it was a pretty one, I told you.
Back home years later, I heard she gave up waiting
And Holder got so unglued. I asked him, we all knew.

He tried, but who listened? Kind of hard when he went missing
And he couldn't keep his dreams straight.
I told you it was a pretty one, I told you.

What shines, shines dully. Step back; it's a bolt or a slap.
Poor Holder was incurable and alone, alone, alone.
He tripped on a bad trick, restless and burnt up too quick.

His smile looked like half of a bent wand.