Tracing out fictitious silhouettes
His Scrap book clippings fall to the ground
His surprise tactics cut him down
Focusing a broken lens
A camera with no flash
Blue coat tails collecting dust
He's and opera sensational
But often irrational
He speaks four in different keys
And five different languages
Standing on his soap box
The crowd begins to applaud
As they're calling his name
Analogue
Two wooden figures collapse
An ovation of faces and hands
Taking our place in the stands
A museum of stolen mysteries
Ancient artifacts of the future
On this one way street
Making a grand entrance
He's and opera sensational
But often irrational
He speaks four in different keys
And five different languages
Standing on his soap box
The crowd begins to applaud
As they're calling his name
Analogue
