Driving the car Touching the gun Finding the street You write the book and I'll script the movie The eternal victim of the cowboy hero terrorist popstar walks habitually into bullets and They tunnel through him All day long, he tumbles dramatically onto pavements, clutching his chest He draws the crowds like a white-face circus clown in a red shirt 'Roll up! Roll up for the real thing!' There's nothing braver than death, except its infliction And the we-did-it phone call is a fine trick to pull off at the end of a perfect performance