| So the carnival’s a no-show
|
| But you line up all the same
|
| The daylight on the wane
|
| It took your horizontal crutch
|
| And said, «Thank you very much
|
| I hope you stay the same!»
|
| But the show-girls stay in touch
|
| They always paint your phone
|
| When you are all alone
|
| But these wasted road will always shatter those
|
| And this will expose all that the shows impose
|
| Inside of you
|
| The eaten melon moon
|
| So you’re old enough to know
|
| But young enough to try
|
| This thing of getting by
|
| And the ride has long to go
|
| The ferris-wheel in tow, the carnival aglow
|
| You find the trailers of the lions light
|
| If you know it to be true
|
| It’s all just lies multiplied by two
|
| See the circus sea nail down the boundaries
|
| And the freaks all flee mismatched amalgamy
|
| Which obscures the view
|
| Of the eaten melon moon
|
| You can hang yourself out to dry
|
| But the starlight still applies
|
| A romance to your eyes
|
| The official facts of fiction feed
|
| The affection of a few
|
| Into the complexion of the wise
|
| And your diamonds turn to dust
|
| As the carnival combusts
|
| Like a luscious, lazy, lust
|
| The martyrs masquerade in their electric robes
|
| As the neon flames in mud all decompose
|
| And then start anew
|
| To make the eaten melon moon |