Roll up! Roll over…
Things have gone o so wrong at the fair,
The big top is on fire, there’s greasepaint everywhere,
The heavy footfall of BIG SHOES in the flames, in the dark,
Getting closer, behind you, o listen, do hark
to my warnings of what may be lurking in there,
Amongst the streamers, the bunting, the stench of burnt hair,
O going into the big top would be far from wise,
For a painted-on smile is but a snarl in disguise.
YES the clowns they are loose! And their laughter is heard,
‘Neath the bleachers ‘twixt litter and elephant turd.
But they’re not out to sing songs, they’re not out to joke,
They are out to split open, to impale, and to choke.
AND they know where you live, so best lock your front door,
For they rip and they mangle, they tear and they gore
anyone who is careless with his or her only life,
‘Cause a clown is a clown, ’til he’s a just some guy with a knife…
– © MB 2010