Acrid acid in the veins
                       perfect storms over rear horizons
                       She kisses trees in desolate parks
              and wanders down the city light parades
                      alone
                          Oh, yearly comes the fair
                                         or the rains
                  or that special way in which the city sleeps
               Falling diphtheritic on swollen grounds
                       and rolling around
                           doing rounds
        shooting all these fantastical clowns
                            Ah, to die
                                              ah to die