It's late. It's just us alone in heaps at center stage   among the programs and bouquets crushed on the floor.   We stay, we'll frolic in the simulated snow   and drown the memories of the show that still remain.      These games of dress up that consume us utterly.   Oh, the pageantry, the empty seats, the lights.   And hey, will we be haunted by indifference and regret   and the incalculable debt we'll be stuck with?      We try for something something lasting   between the rentals and reviews.   Oh that was such inspired casting.   It does invigorate the room.   And this alcoholic haze will ultimately fade,   but what's left, but what's left?      And then one errant strand of hair slips from your braid   and it shivers you the cadence of your breath.   You stretch, you're sprawled out like a half packed parachute   and every universal truth reveals itself.      To try for something something lasting   between the rentals and reviews.   Oh that was such inspired casting.   It does invigorate the room.   And this alcoholic haze will ultimately fade,   but what's left, but what's left?      These adrenalinic ghosts still linger in their hosts.   That's what's left. That's what's left.