Like a magpie, Rusty the lonely old clown
His hidden talents disguised
His act as sharp as a brand new razor
With the blade pointing down.
He sits in his *****, dismal room
Hiding the doom and the gloom
He paints a fresh red smile
But his heart beats to a depressing drum
That quickens every once in a while.
He is certain that there is danger to come
His teeth shine like daggers
As they bite into the cake he is holding
The fruit in the jam rotten like the blood in his veins.
A thief bound by his own greed
Filthy like the rats in his own drain
The more he wants, and the more he needs
Collecting and gathering just as a magpie does
Sharp, desperate, the old clown.