He turns the TV high
The walls are paper-thin
He hopes the neighbor folks aren't listening
He's killed his wife with words
Confident it's private rage
When up goes the curtain, and he is on the stage

He's on the stage, yeah
God sees it all
He's on the stage, yeah
He has total recall
It is an art, yeah, hiding murder in your heart

The show is over
He pours himself a drink
Best to forget about it
Put a record on the stereo and try not to think

And the record plays . . .
"This is your life
You beat your wife
We'll spare the gory deals
And simply say . . . "

Recording artist, yeah
God hears it all
Recording artist, yeah
He has total recall
Your sneaky moves are right here in the grooves

He puts his car in gear
Got to get out of here
Going somewhere far away
But through the headlight beams
He sees the billboard scene
His fight last night is on display

You're on display, yeah
He sees it all
You're on display, yeah
He has total recall
Your bloody crime is up there on the sign