Can’t dream, can’t sleep
Afraid that the clowns will eat me
Because that’s what the voices in my head
Are telling me
And the hastening of the bongo beat
Makes it seem all the more real
Just like being caught in a jungle
Full of ancient silverbacks
Who have lived too long to care
Whether or not they kill for food
Or just sport

It all goes silent
Save the faint chirping of the birds so distant
But soon even they are mute
As a circus tent pops out of the meadow
And chilling big top music grips the ambiance
The ring master stands outside
A wild grin smeared across his face
And a rank perfume he wears
His eyes outlined with thick greasepaint circles
He whispers into a little girl’s ear
“I’m the one that you wanted”

A heartfelt superstition
Filled with jealousy
Because digging up the dead is hard labor
They hire clowns to do the work
Clowns are always smiling
Grinning their evil smirk
And that is supposed to make people feel better
But not me

I cast stones at white-faced fools
Lighting sticks of dynamite
Hurling them to explosion in the clowns’ hands
They look up for one final second
Before scraps of their body shred abroad the grass
But retaliation is inevitable
The pale demons whip buttons and bows
As hard as ice at my head
Scrapes across my cheek are unfelt
When you want to bring the giant down
You must be stepped on a few times
Rome wasn’t conquered in a day, and neither will you