Author Description

A boy looked in a window, to see a naughty showThrough the pane of pain, the master clown did blowThe circus is a holy tent, the keeper of my rhymeWhere I forged my chains, creating this pantomimePretending to be normal, I wait until after darkThen I paint the frown on, get a whore from the parkAt the bottom of that bed was a darling in a chestShe watched with big eyes, horror hooking her from restShe dances for the maniac, twirling on her stringsI will make her mine, sharing damaged thingsI will be her riddle, she will help me grinSo why does she run away, she has to let me inNo one loves the clown, not even the midgetWe've gone too far, she will know my secretLove can break the hardest mask, I know this to be trueNightmares have hearts too, I only needed you