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I've only known you for 10 minutes but I'd prefer you didn't die just yet
You're on a horse, your hands are tied and there's a rope around your neck
One of them's good, the other ones bad and you're no oil painting
But you play the part of the holy rouge
Dance along like the desert's your stage
Your soul possessed by the ghost of Stanislavski
Eli Wallach
Through his silver tooth, before he shoots he speaks their epitaph
Loose scripts and unsynced lips and he still makes us laugh
Like when he wears his gun while he's in the bath
Disbeliever: But for all of your laughter, you're going crazy like some guy like he's your zen master…
Darren: I know
But inspiration's rare as gold, hidden in an unmarked grave
You find a hero where you least expect it
Mine's been in over 50 films
And I'd have thought by now
Somebody would have written a book about him