NUMBING ANTHONY NEWLEY
How can I make equations this large,
the size of the tide of the tithings?
There a jolly-roll fellow there eating,
inside his window, he's looking out.
I'd hate that, eating aloud on the street
like that, where everyone can see. I
seek privacy. Roar of the greasepaint,
smell of the crowd. Anthony Newley
would do that proud. No, no, wait.
I've put it backwards again. The man's
on the outside of the glass, and I've put
it backwards again. Smell of the
greasepaint. Roar of the crowd.
He's eating alone, and not aloud.
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