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Musical: City of Angels
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GABBY: No lack of alibis Your knack for the spectacular is still intact I like the tone of it It rings sincere and pretty near succeeds It's just the narrative Is like a sieve and cloudy as a cataract There's not a trace of honesty so face the fact It needs ... work You dodge emotion, dear Your logic's unconvincing as it strains to please Unlike the books you write This plot is quite contrived the way it reads It's far too obvious And filled with flaws and gross implausibilities Excepting for the part about the broken keys It needs work Your fiction always had A little grit in it A little heart in it A little wit in it It used to be so clear That there was art in it If you had written it So must you go and spit in it And come to think of it Your writing always mirrors our relationship With dangers cropping up And sweet young strangers popping up like weeds So if you wish official pardoning You better do a little gardening Ya know ya needn't be so gen'rous with your seeds Your fertile lies don't fertilize It needs work We used to sit in bed and read each draft out loud We'd play each part and talk the story through Remember all we said and how we laughed out loud Now take a closer look at you I oughta throw the book at you You had to ruin it This plot has got a lot of deja vu in it Familiarity And in this case we both know what that breeds But call me anytime you seem yourself When you've decided to redeem yourself When you discover where this self deception leads I'd rather see you shoot yourself Than watch you prostitute yourself Your new routine is too routine It needs work
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