Afterglow in a distant row.
The door is open and the lights are cold.
The children come in here and they dare the ghost, like a fire burning in a stone.
Silent light in the theatre's sky.
Phantom cigarette and a silent cry.
The door swings open and it's cold outside.
Run and hide, run and hide.
They can still see him singing on the corner.
Singing songs that never fade away, fade into the kids that come along.
Memory in a silent seat.
Melody on a long retreat.
Like an angel on a balcony.
Like an angel on a balcony.---------------------------------------
Yankee Doodle came to terms,
Writing Martin Buber.
Stuck a Fuehrer in our back,
And called it Shicklegruber!
[trumpet plays "retreat"]