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The lights have gone dim |
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and the people are gone |
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And clown goes back into his caravan |
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Hangs up his smile on a hook by the door |
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And lets his ragged coat slip to the floor |
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With the sound of the children's laughter |
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Still ringing in his ears |
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Laughing cause they're happy |
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They laugh to hide their fears |
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Clown loves the children |
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For, like him, they fear |
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The world does not exist tonight |
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And only the circus |
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Only the circus is real |
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As real as the elephants that trumpet in the ring |
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Real like the trapeze, see it swing |
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Real like the man who eats real fire |
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Real like the lady on the high wire |
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But the people have gone, his identity gone |
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Clown peeps through he window of his caravan |
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From the trees on the common |
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The town looks so small |
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Clown puts on his coat and goes out the door |
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And the distant neon lights |
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They shine above the town |
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"It's almost like a circus", thinks clown |
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Then half with fear |
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And half with delight |
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Shivering, shaking |
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Clown stands laughing |
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Clown stands laughing |
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Clown is laughing at the night |
