At the end of the day there's a man going back to his room
And his final performance expected to start very soon
Will be an exclusive view well accorded
For those who saw his début and applauded
With the turn of a page he returns to the days of his youth
In his mind he forgets the difference 'twixt fiction and truth
The critics compared him to Kean, and his Hamlet
Brought tears to the eyes of the Queen at the Alhambra
Was it so long ago when the people stood up on their chairs ?
And the women would wait in the rain for a lock of his hair ?
How they would cheer when the curtain descended
Those were the days when applause never ended
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Autographed programmes and pictures he always keeps near
And a make-up box given to him on the last night of Lear
Sir Beerbohm Tree, silk cravat, Irving's type in
And Mistinguette's kiss wrapped in satin
At the end of the day the old man sits alone in his room
And he knows that the company assembled before him quite soon
Will see a young man at the peak of his calling
Turning his face to the storm of applause 'round him falling
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So he carefully dresses and waits as the lights start to fade
For his favourite audience knows that he isn't afraid
And he smiles at a world that he can't understand
He's drifting away, for the start of the play is at hand
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