Tom

Your season fixated on sleeping the laziness
Traveling the fairgrounds and deciding whose failed you at best
High as your voice still sung in the circus tents
Touching your tongue on the ceilings of song

How many skies fell on your horizon line?
Would you go nowhere if you had a nowhere to go nowhere to
Never afraid of challenging the scene
If it punched out my lights then I would punch out its sun

Can you not see that your audience is leaving
They were crushed in the foyers unable to find seating
The ushers in protest for the tears they planned on keeping
Will soon turn to rivers not worthy of drinking

The light now embarrassed and afraid of the dark
Is seen covering its evening with garments of stars
The windmills stand turning to a hurricanes push
The keyholes and stanzas singing onward we must