Speak, or silence Gather your wit, or die The screen's flashing The tension is immense Who'd want the audience laughing at their expense? We're all equally unimpressed, coincidence? No The screen's flashing for the glory of millennium New trades of the body language, firm handshakes A letdown engraved on a tomb, with a switchblade knife, here lies your late bloomer What else blooms near but the shame, the girlfriend of the year Speak, or silence