Jeffrey Hull

Here comes that Broadway feeling
   I've had so many times;
My cheap burlesque reheeling
   Old jokes and pantomimes.

That good old Broadway feeling,
   The curtain's going up;
They laugh to watch me reeling
   To drink my bitter cup.

I’m just your stage door Johnny,
   Another decked out swell;
My clothes are flash, I'm scrawny:
   I'm just a burned out shell.

I'll pack my bags for Splitsville
   And forward all my mail;
These worn out shticks and bits will
   Just soft shoe down the trail.

That same sad Broadway feeling
   As sure as sure can be
Tells me you're double-dealing:
   Our time is history.


© 2006 Jeffrey Hull