Song-Rhythm of the Heartbeat

You say you're open minded
(you won't be blinded-
you ain't bull-headed
you stay cool-headed)

But you see there's cool

(And then there's cool)

It fans the heat

I'm not big on cold ideas- Oh no.

I rather love a heartbeat
I'm a sucker for a heartbeat
Whenever I wanted to know
The word that occured on the street
I just listen to the Heartbeat
To the Rhythm of the Heartbeat

Whenever I wanted to go
Take that victory out of defeat
I just listen to the heartbeat
To the Rhythm of the Heartbeat

Well for someone that you don't know
To give you the big "hello"
Well you'll never be shaken,
No, you'll never get taken,
If you listen to the Heartbeat
To the Rhythm of the Heartbeat
Oh whatever you want to do
You'll do it better if you did it as you
Don't follow your nose
Where the sun never goes
Til you listen to the heartbeat
The rhythm to the patterned heartbeat

Oh- listen to my heartbeat
Oh-take a lesson from a heartbeat
Oh-there's no messin with my heartbeat
Oh-Oh what a blessing is a Heartbeat

Well when it gets sentimental and slow
Don't fight it you might miss a treat
Unless you're listenin' to the heartbeat
The heady Rhythm of the Heartbeat
And then when the tempo says "go"
And you're yearning to turn indiscreet
Well just keep listenin to the heartbeat
The steady Rhythm of the Heartbeat

Well if somebody turns your head
and edges you onto the bed
Just forget you're refined,
stop improving your mind
And listen to the Heartbeat
To the Rhythm of the Heartbeat
Well you don't need a Ph.D
It's easier than ABC
You don't have to be smart
Just open your heart
And listen to the heartbeat
I'm gonna give in to the heartbeat
The rhythm to the steady heartbeat

Oh-Listen to my heartbeat
Oh- Take a lesson from a heartbeat
Oh- There's no messin with my heartbeat
Oh- What a blessing is a heartbeat

Be still my beating heart

(enough's enough)

Heartbeat.

Mephistopheles- I want you to try and forget the bad reputation we've been saddled with in the past, enough of that self-justification, it
must be said- we have managed to get ourselves a  bit of a bad rep, haven't we. We're bad news.

Brother Michael- Bad ass

Mephistopheles- Yes, and I've been bad-mouthed so often it hurts. But you can get some great ointment for that now. You give a dog a bad name and it sticks!

Rather like the ointment-

I've had a lot of bad press down the centuries, you should read
my clippings. Oh yeah. I don't know if you're familiar with a
teutonic scribbler by the name of Goethe, (pronounced gerter)
Dirty Gertie? He wrote a book called Faust? Don't read it-
it was a hatchet job.

He was the Kitty Kelley, the Albert Goldman, the Anna
Pasternak, of early German Literature. So (snort) to Gertie.
You see, his prejudice has been passed down to you from
generation unto generation, so how can I possibly blame you
if you are to regard me as a despicable little shit determined
to lead you into sin? I don't even LIKE sin.
Read the book, saw the miniseries!

They say that uh, for instance gluttony's a sin.
What's a sin, gluttony is a sin? Gluttony's not even a sin!

Mephistopheles- Yes it is.

Mephistopheles- Well yes, but only if you insist on wearing pink leggings with a short top. They say Vanity is a sin, in which case
I plead guilty, guilty, guilty. But of course, it's not a sin,
it's simply a delicious weakness.

It's my fervent hope, potential customers, that before the evening
is over, you will come to love me without reservation. Believe me
when I tell you, I have absolutely no hidden motives whatsoever.
What you see- is what you get.

It's nice- isn't it.

This is photo opportunity time.

(click of a camera) That was it. By the way, if you brought your
cameras today, err,  tonight, I have to tell you that the taking of photographs is absolutely obligatory. Yes, I suppose that does reveal me as someone who is rather shallow.

Yes that could be said.

Superficial.

Yes!

Veneer all the way through..

Yes!

And-frivolous.

But you can
never have too much friv , in my opinion, after all that is to some extent
my raison' d'être is it not? I am after all, the Imp of Frivolity, Primping . . . for jollity. Maybe I am, yes, a little overly fond of the unholy trinity- Drugs and sex and rock and roll, but when it comes to indulging in that gleesome threesome, that rebel treble, that triple r-r-r-ripple, I always employ the following criteria.

I have my very own Golden Rule, and it goes something like this.

Hit it, Brother Ed!

Make it hot!

Song-Let's get to the Heart of it

(this one I am not anywhere near sure on!!)

Oh just to feel you,
Baby if you feel good
I don't wanna get stuck
In my own advice

It's all been heard before
With your engine cut to the floor
Don't you ever pry away from the door

So Let's get to the heart of it.
Oo,oo
Let's get to the heart of it.
Oo,oo

Even if you're brain dead
Or even just a half-bred
I don't wanna play the game
I'd rather just play to win

I'm opening the door for you
You've finally heard that's true
Tomorrow it will be too late!

So Let's get to the heart of it
Oo,oo
Let's get to the heart of it.
Oo,oo

Searching will put you in the darkness
But do not mean the same thing.
Finders, keepers, loser, weepers,
But you mean everything

Let's get to the Heart of it.
Oo,oo
Let's get to the Heart of it
Oo,oo

Even if you're brain dead
Or even just a half-bred
I don't wanna play the game
I'd rather play to fight

But I don't have to put up a fight.
To heat up and scramble the dice
Come on I don't have all night

So let's get to the Heart of it
oo,oo
Let's get to the Heart of it
Ooo,oo

(guitar solo)

[?]
But do not mean the same thing
Different hurts
In different skirts
But you mean everything (Key change!)

So let's get to the Heart of it
oo,oo
Let's get to the Heart of it
Ooo,oo

Let's get to the Heart of it

Oh, let's get to the Heart of it.

Mephistopheles- Oh, Drugs and Sex and Rock and Roll. We party hard, party partners, down at Club Inferno. And as committed
party animals, we always ask the following question:

"What is it that really makes the party go- with a bang?"

Well a bang, that's nice.

Especially five minutes after you've arrived, on the coat with all the beds on it. Or the bed with all the coats on it, either way, take it how you want it. Under the bed. Fuck it.

The party always improves, doesn't it, when you walk in, and you get the sexual hots for someone- or something- that's also present. And let's face it, we've all had a fling with a thing, haven't we. This is me you're talking to.

Ok, I know one guy who went steady with a refrigerator for
three years. The story has a tragic ending, though. The refrigerator finally broke it off.

Now booze . . . Booze is great. Booze is wonderful, and I'll tell
you what I especially like about alcohol- I like the way it completely shuts down the thinking processes, but still allows you to pontificate on thousands of different subjects, in a random fashion, all in the same sentence- and in a language you never even knew you had command of.
This is the stuff of dreams.

Booze is a mind-numbing, mood-swinging, ego-erasing bullshit enhancer.

Oh, bullshit ain't no crime. If it was- Hollywood
would be on Death Row.

What about other drugs, other than booze. Booze is a drug,
alcohol is a drug, what about other drugs? They may well give you a lift, but will they exercise the same influence over a party? I don't know. Probably not, could be, maybe not.

You see, the thing though, they're the accessories. The thing that really
makes a party go with a bang and a swing and everything else, is the people. It's the people. I've partied with the best!

Oh yes! Bacchanalian revels I've attended in my time.

Bacchus. What - a - guy. Georgy-Porgie puddin' an' orgy.

I can see him now, standing on the hill, sun at his back, bollocky
naked and pissed to beat the band, marvelous. He's down with us
now, you know. Oh yes. He runs the "classical picnic experience"
for us.

It's a big hit with all of those members who like a song, a drink
and a shag.

Um, oh 16th century lowland Dutch peasants? They knew how to throw a mean street party, oh indeed they did. Lots of very young wine, ruddy faces, peasant people- codpieces bursting at the seams. The younger dudes used to get a bit leery, they'd come up and go "Oh, what's wrong with you? Judging by my face". I'd say "Not much, but nice packet."

I saw Bruegel (pronounced Broy-gul) get a hammering at one of these   do's once. A beating. He walked in with his canvas and his paints and his oils and one of the younger dudes went "Oh- fucking Paparrazzi!" Bruegel's face and that canvas both resembled a very early Jackson Pollocks.

Yeah, I messed about with the Mesopotamians, messy by name,
messy by nature. Strange people with big hair. Looked wonderful,
ate like pigs. I hit it off with the Hittites. I dabbled with the Babylonians.

Frockettes- Macedonians

Mephistopheles- Oh yeah, the Amazonians . . .

Frockettes- Pasedonians

Mephistopheles- . . . and the Caledonians. Mm, I like them all with a bit of tilt in their kilt.

I got to the bottom of Sodom.

Brother Michael- Oh, he's a nice boy!

Mephistopheles-Like there was no tomorrah, in Gomorrah. but there was a lot of begatting going on in those days, and I was begatting among the best, oh yes I was. I was a sex machine. I was running on high-octane optimism, and believe me, that's a gas. But no matter how good a time I was actually having at the time, I always believed that there was a better time waiting for me- just around the corner.

And looking out at your sweet smiling faces and your ego-thrusting
bodies . . . back, back!

I can see that I was absolutely right. Because I knew then, as surely
as I know now, that the best . . . has yet to come . . . for me.

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