As the dose flies
down his throat nearly each night and mornin’
where the gates are closed and he’s forlorn:
in the château
filled with gateau.

His career has died.
He’s filled the place with downers and speed—
mostly the former he’d feed with greed
in the château,
pigged on gateau.

He might spend a hundred grand
to obtain what he had planned.
As an old man, he was never gonna see the day.
His gangly stance gone flabby;
the bathrooms look shabby.
In one he would be found dead…
a Lenny Bruce replay.

The world had turned.
No one wanted to see him in those garish clothes,
swivelin’ his hips, lookin’ like he’d doze,
big from gateau,
in the château.

His act had been spurned.
He stays home, watchin’ TV all night
takin’ drugs till he feels
that the world’s alright…
in the château.
Big, he’s fatso.

Then one night, from medication,
the strung man ain’t OK.
He’d taken drugs way too far.
Hole will be dug,
he’ll be put thar.
The monarch has died—
paid a monster price.

Now the crowds gather round down in Graceland
paying for entrance many hundreds of grands…
in the château…
big bags o’ dough.

They pay; he paid the price
in the château.
Now the crowds line up in early mornin’;
they are coming to gawk but not to mourn
in the château,
where he paid the price.
Now they pay the price.

Had the final slice
of the gateau,
in the château.