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The Party

Artist:Phil Ochs  Album:Live At Newport  Writer:OCHS PHIL  Composer:OCHS PHIL 

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The fire-breathing Rebels arrive at the party early, Their khaki coats are hung in the closet near the fur. Asking handouts from the ladies, while they criticize the lords. Boasting of the murder of the very hands that pour. And the victims learn to giggle, for at least they are not bored. And my shoulders had to shrug As I crawl beneath the rug And retune my piano. The Hostess is enormous, she fills the room with perfume, She meets the guests and smothers them with greetings. And she asks "how are you" as she offers them a drink, The Countess of the social grace, who never seems to blink. And she promises to talk to you, if you promise not to think. And my shoulders had to shrug, as I crawled beneath the rug And retuned my piano. The Beauty of the hour is blazing in the present, She surrounds herself with those who would surrender. Floating in her flattery she's a trophy-prize, caressed. Protected by a pretty face, sometimes cursed, sometimes blessed. And she's staring down their desires, while they're staring down her dress. And my shoulders had to shrug As I crawl beneath the rug And retune my piano. The egos shine like lightbulbs, so bright you cannot see them, Blind each other blinder than a sandbox. All the fury of an argument, holding back their yawns, A challenge shakes the chandliers, the selfish swords are drawn. To the loser go the hangups, to the victor go the hangers on. And my shoulders had to shrug As I crawl beneath the rug And retune my piano. They travel to the table, the


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