The Clown

I sing, I dance, I run away
A clown without a home - I say!
What stupid poor old soul is this?
Throw popcorn towards it’s stupid grin

The homeless dances, pleased with self
Soon it’s head will be displayed on a shelf
It will be gunned down by the circus itself
For daring to show up in the audience pen

It’s words are all stringy and barely make sense
Why not laugh at it’s stupidity then?
But the clown dances on with it’s deep injured pride
Failing to give up even at the darkest of time

What a stupid creation this poor old clown is
It can’t give up and it can never win
It will dance until it’s nothing but bones
And then it will haunt the hallways of hope