|
The autumn howled around the heads |
|
That hung so slack with lips so red |
|
The blooms had withered leaves were shed |
|
Tongues stuck in jaws sad clowns parade |
|
The crushing whine began its call |
|
And pointed fingers at us |
|
In Angle Park |
|
The lights are dim, the statues grim |
|
In Angle Park |
|
The fountains crack |
|
In Angle Park |
|
The beaten cry behind white dress |
|
The clowns stuck fast upon the mesh |
|
While mothers wring their hands of tears |
|
The spelling books are in arrears |
|
The evil genius hugs his wife |
|
As tiles ring with fear of life |
|
The window fills with beating hearts |
|
Beat on blindly beat it |
|
In Angle Park |
|
The lights are dim, the statues grim |
|
In Angle Park |
|
The fountains crack |
|
In Angle Park |
|
In Angle Park |
|
The lights are dim, the statues grim |
|
In Angle Park |
|
The fountains crack |
|
In Angle Park |
