Human Sacrifice
Alexander Hanson, Andrew Lloyd Webber
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I don't mind admitting the last place I expected to finish up was
As an exhibit in the Chamber of Horrors. And not even at the main HQ
But in Blackpool, if you please. Nowhere to be found on my long
List of desirable places to spend the weekend. And yet, not so very
Long ago, I had a fair claim to be the most popular man in London
(Sung)
Stephen Ward, your friendly osteopath
I can fix your lower back for you
Also known for high-class portraiture
And you'll find out that's not all I do
Winston Churchill, Ava Gardner
Different contours, same predicament
Gandhi was another regular
Called me his preferred medicament
I invented a new way of life
Some might call it unconventional
All that stuffy post-war Englishness
I liked something more consensual
You'll be wondering what I'm doing here
Stuck between Hitler and the acid bath murderer
Let me warn you, it's the consequence
If you get up the nose of the establishment
If you give them what they're looking for
They'll be grateful, oh they'll be awfully nice
But if you should step across the line
You'll become a human sacrifice
Friends could never understand
The girls who caught my eye
Shop girls, models, working girls
I'd have them all come by
Strange behaviour, you may think
But tolerance is blind
All I ever cared about
Was simply being kind
I tried marriage, didn't go for it
I liked freedom and diversity
Mixed with all sorts, tarts and royalty
And of course the young and beautiful
Portraits of the Duke of Edinburgh
Jolly threesomes in Belgravia
Weekends in some stately country house
With assorted misbehaviour
All this was my life
Limitless delights
All the girls and all the parties
All the amazing nights
Self-indulgence is permissible
But one day you'll have to pay the price
I suppose I stepped across the line
And became a human sacrifice
They will bring you down
Unless your heart's as cold as ice
Nothing they like better than
A human sacrifice
No matter how experienced or sophisticated you are, you never see
It coming, do you? I mean, when I stepped into Murray's Club in
Beak Street that wet and murky Tuesday, why should it have been any
Different from the dozens of other evenings I'd whiled away there?