Minstrel In The Gallery

The minstrel in the gallery
Looked down upon the smiling faces
He met the gazes observed the spaces
In between the old men’s cackle

And he brewed a song of love and hatred
Oblique suggestions and he waited
He polarized the pumpkin-eaters
Static-humming panel-beaters

The minstrel in the gallery
Looked down on the rabbit-run
And threw away his looking-glass
Saw his face in everyone

Hey, he titillated the men-of-action
Belly warming, hands still rubbing
On the parts that they never mention
Salaried and collar-scrubbing

He pacified the nappy-suffering, infant-bleating, one-line jokers
T.V. documentary makers, overfed and undertakers

Sunday paper backgammon players
Family-scarred and women-haters
Then he called the band down to the stage
And he looked at all the friends he’d made

The minstrel in the gallery
I looked down on the rabbit-run
And threw away his looking-glass
And saw his face in everyone

Hey

The minstrel in the gallery
Looked down upon the smiling faces
Met the gazes