Fair weather friend
Hey, it's me
I'm coming home
So wait and see
The better man
I've grown to be
Fair weather friend
Hey, it's me

Fair weather friend
My castaway
We're lost at sea
Yet family
Where we'll go
I don't want to know
We'll never stop
And that's my hope

Fair weather friend
Don't call my name
Don't call me by my olden name
Call me Free Bird
I can't be tamed
Without deposit
There's no regain

is it all a game?
you're wanting to play?
to leave me on open?
to see what i'll say?

you know i'm upset.
you know how i get.
so how is it fair
to leave me on read?

Every judgemental word of stone that you cast
Shall ricochet and slap you in the face
When you gossip
Be careful
For a bird might hear you
And tell others what you had said
Don't fire arrows of jealousy
For you shall be put to shame
Don't try to mould someone into what you'd like them to be
Unless you're willing to do something against your own will
Don't accuse others of wrong action
If you are guilty of more
For your skeleton in hiding
Will almost always fall out of the cupboard at the most inopportune time
Be who you are
And people shall respect you more
It's better to deal with a criminal
Than to speak to one who wears a mask

I can’t breathe-
But I can wear long sleeves.
I can’t look
To the tumbling leaves
Without being reminded
Of my cracking psychiatric state
That his name leaves me in.
I can’t smile,
But I can blame it on
Being “under the weather”
Like it’s some sort of
Dizzy spell that disintegrates
My fake smiles and
Social interactions.
Another year I watch the leaves lose their hair,
Being stripped completely vulnerable
In public,
Just the way he left me.
Another year I spend my birthday alone.
Another year I don’t have a date to the fair.
It’s unfair…
Another year I will be purposely outcast
At friendly functions.
Another year I’ll be questioned
As to why I stay at home all of the time.
Another year I’ll spend alone in my own mind.
Another year;
Closer to death.
Happy ******* birthday.

Portable Carnival.
You pack it up and roll it away two weeks to the day that it arrives. The lives of these carnies have never mattered. They exist only as a part of the traveling freakshow. Something we pay money to stare at, to laugh at, to mock. It’s degrading, but it’s how the freaks have to earn their living. It’s how Two Toe Toby affords his next meal. But he doesn’t have a favorite sit down restaurant, because they keep putting him back on a bus and sending him to a different city to manage the tilt-a-whirl; And all the hurling ***** from children's’ stomachs that are full of corn dogs and cotton candy.
Portable Portajohn.
A traveling **** storm. Citizens come and give us their paychecks in return for cheap thrills on rinky **** rides that spin their minds into oblivion. Just so they can say they’ve tasted the clouds and all of the pollution that surrounds them.
And just like that, we leave again. Vanishing into our next city, for a scheduled two week period.

What's fair, and also true?
Nothing; Truth brings us sight.
In the dark, stay me and you;
All we dream, vanish in the light.