Stars were out, the money flowed. It was a season in hell. The night poured down on him like a knife, but it was all very well. Subtle disguises and socialites, he master them well. All full of nerve as he’s feet the curve. There was someone gonna die at the Belvedere Hotel.
And he smiled as he held up his hand, his heart cold as ice. It was just part of the plan. Johnny was a dancer.
Debonair, strikingly handsome. He could glide thru a room. Hired by the wife of some rich young banker, or some Arabian oil tycoon. He spoke in lies, murder was in his eyes. He cast a spell on a room. He played his part like some Hollywood heartthrob, living large at the bottom of a glamorous cesspool.
And he smiled as he held up his hand, his heart cold as ice. It was just part of the plan. Johnny was a dancer.
It’s his cross to bear. What hides in the shadows and the reflections in the mirror? Like a devil on the run, never trusting anyone. The end of days would soon be here. Johnny was a dancer.
Slippery ropes, shattered hopes in a maze full of lies. Lives erased truth debased, there’s a fire in the sky. Flights to Boston, flights to Reno. Flights to Rome a San Tropez. He found solitude on the autobahn in route to rendezvous with the wife of a widowed billionaire.
And she smiled as she held up her hand. Her heart was cold as ice; he was just part of her plan. It was a classic double cross. Betrayed, he died down on his knees. Fell by the sword, blind love and the greed. Johnny was a dancer.
Johnny was a dancer, Johnny was a dancer. You got his number but there’s no answer.