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Daskarzine
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Cold Chisel
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1
Well Daskarzine, she was pretty bland
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As she stretched out in the corner of the room
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She was Oh! so lazy with her pistol hand
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As her hair hung hot off the loom
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A red-eyed Chicken felt like stepping in
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But his lines lacked their customary cool
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Her conversation flowed like treacle from a tin
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And Chicken felt like some kind of fool
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Oh Yeah!
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Her every move
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Is a lesson in street ballet
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And they speak her name in cheap hotels
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From Turkey to Marseillaise
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Seduction seems to hang in the dressing-room air
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But no-one knows just who's seducing who
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She puts it out wave after wave
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And never seems to miss the slightest cue
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Outside in the wings
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The curtain-boys cry lonely
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Their one true love is Daskarzine
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And for her they'll all die slowly
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Oh babe, she says, we've got to die sometime
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It's the sweetest thing we do
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Why not die from month to month
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With my touch to help you through
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Now Chicken left the room feeling angry and cold
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Young Stetson looked reluctant and lame
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Daskarzine had him neatly pidgeonholed
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And he was just clinging blindly to his name
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I'm Stetson and I ain't so bad, he kept on saying
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But his mind was trapped in some kind of cage
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He had failed at the ancient art of role-playing
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And was fighting to leave the bleeding stage
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On the radio
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A tenor saxaphone
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Cries sweet jazz poetry
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And it breaks on Daskarzine's facade
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Of false serenity
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