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And if the conversation's right, / He'll ask the audience to throw away all his
instruments tonight. / It's all he's known for all his life, / He's got the opera
house believin' him that there's just no end / They're throwing down all their
papers now, / Knowing not what he sings about, / And casting away the one's who
say:/He's trapped within his ways / His records and his tapes / Appropriate escape
from ordinary days./They call him line connection aimî, / They raise the pennants
high, they're cheering their newfound hero of the game. / But it's all he'll know
for all his life, / He burns the opera house, he's telling himself there's just no
end / He's throwing down all his papers now / Knowing not what he sings about, / And
casting away the ones who say!
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