While mired in a world of fantasy elite,
reacting to the sound of running feet;
Bewitched by clowns whose faces white,
become an awkward refuge from the night.

I've traveled along this crowded path,
where sensibility is gobbled up by wrath;
By echoing words which others claim,
to preserve each sound of harsh refrain.

How comical to see the road diverge,
where laughs will follow a lonely dirge;
Left behind is the stigma of waging wars,
and nothing ends 'till we know the score.

Each colorless emotion soon gravitates,
with an emptiness no one can erase;
While fantasies evolve toward dissolution,
each beating heart finds its own solution.