I hang my head down low
When the mask falls and everybody knows,
Don't look through my windows,
Shades closed, I'm ok because they say so.
I'm not ok but I make those jokes
So they don't see real pain,
They don't see emotional strain.
Tried to fix the engine but it blows up.
Back on a clean slate, inside ready to erupt
No look he's normal, he must be great.

Don't talk about it, just walk around it
Look how happy the little clown is
I pull these balloons so they go loose,
Blow them up and tie my noose
Hung up until I deflate too soon
Playing that pop goes the weasel tune.

reach out and touch my soul
the flames in me burn hot as coal

I have the token
I paid the toll

you do not yet know your role
so you slow down

you lift me up, knock me around
why must I always play the clown?

I mend the tattered fabric of my heart on the other side of town
your heart sees mine like a tunnel throughout time
we communicate through movement and love through pantomime

I find it difficult to let it go
a few months have never seemed so long ago

I've come back to let you know
I'm on fire

The clown keeps a journal filled with his suicidal thoughts;
His face wet with paint and his hair soaked in dye,
he laughs to himself as he reads the words scribbled across the pages.
They crescendo like the build up of a joke -
splashes of ink blots suggest that his pen blew up before the punch-line.

He remembers a time when the earth was grey;
the morning dew seeped into everyone’s socks
and they walked around with heavy feet,
indifferent to the man beside him
walking on the bare flesh of his toes.
Then a stream of water dribbled out from the prank flower on his chest.

In a world so addicted to tragedy,
comedy is sublime,
like the nicotine rush from a cigarette.

Yet laughter is a bond so easily broken.
The white on his face can wipe away,
the lipstick can smear,
and the dye can fade.
But beneath all of that is a smile,
a smile that persists
because nothing is wrong
when the clowns come out.

I've fumbled
dropping my dignity

it's not a lol
slapstick moment
more foolish tragedy

I am your clowning glory
in the circus of our life
the wheels are falling off again
as I'm travelling too fast

it's always so ****** funny
in a sad pathetic way
you laugh your stupid face off,

even though I get your sympathy
it's from the height of pity
not emphatic in any way

I can perform all night
though not the way you'd like
struggling with the *** thing
to satisfy your cravings
while trying not to cry

am I here to entertain you
my mask a tragic farce
looking like I've got it together
But I'm dieing on my ****.

I’ll give my spirit for you
Because when you’re down
I’m forever your fool
Ask me if I will dance
And I’ll give you a second chance
I won’t stop until you’re pleased
With my whole body’s abstract grief
I won’t stop until I’m dead
And my feet are burning fiery red

I’ll never care if you fall short
Because you’re my king
And I am your court
If you told me to take
Another heart and make it break
I won’t stop until it shatters
And serve it to you on a golden platter
I won’t stop until I’m dead
To make sure that you’re well fed

I’ll let you do what’s best for her
Because you’re my king
And I’m forever your jester
Tell me that you don’t know
I’ll tell you to please let me go
I won’t stop until you leave
Even when I’m too tired to grieve
I won’t stop until I’m dead
And have erased myself from your head

I’ll be here when you must be found
Because you’re my ringmaster
And I’m your best clown
Tell me that she’s what’s right
I’ll never try to put up a fight
I won’t stop until you’ll see
You don't have to be here for me
I won’t stop until I’m dead
And my circus act is for now to bed

But whenever and whatever you need me for
I hope you know that I am forever yours