Well last night I dreamt the Angel of d**h
Was looming near with a lugubrious leer
I could almost smell its cadaverous breath
As it whispered in my ear: Thank God you're here,
Thank God you're here.
I was pushed through a door to a packed studio
I could tell it was Hell from the atmosphere
That sulphurous smell of fires below
And the audience yelled: Thank God you're here
The stage was full of comedians, cavorting grimly to the crowds applause
Incredibly I seemed to be one of them, shaking hands and sharpening claws
The finest in their profession of gregarious self-obsession
St Vitus dancing for pole position at the centre of attention
All these friendly guys with daggers in their eyes
All hail fellow, well met, and I hope you die
So much bonomy, so much anomie
They all had voodoo dolls that looked suspiciously like me
Thank God you're here
I seemed to be famous and good looking to boot
If you want to be funny, you have to be cute
Hanging on to my keyring - my supermodel plaything
Whom I'm currently dating, well until next ratings,
There goes Rove on the phone to the States
With his caravan trailing, peeling him grapes
And the Aussie chick, my radio sidekick
With a NIDA degree so she can act thick
Another door opened, a crush began
A Working Dog came past carried on a Sedan
With supplicants pitching movie treatments
Like lepers at the feet of Jesus
I felt my mouth form something ban*l
The audience convulsed in the laughing grand mal
I was pushed to the floor, someone stood on my head
"The Chaser's chasing ratings" someone else said
They held me down, yelled in my ear: "The dark lord comes
Prepare for thy doom ADD Armageddon nears
Thou shalt not be the funniest in the room"
There was weeping and gnashing of teeth
And in rode Billy Connolly on a sponsor logoed Harley
Cackling, yelling: "Let's talk about me!"
Thank God You're Here
Thank God You're Here
Thank God You're Here
I woke, flapping, like a fish on a line
The nightmare over; alive, alone
Lying in a pool of my own salty brine
The ringing in my head morped into my phone
My doona, spooled round my ear,
I picked up my phone, brushed a tear
It was Henri Root saying, "Thank God you're here,
The Comedy Festival wants us to appear."