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The circus is back in town |
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here comes my favorite clown again |
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I love it when he strips his smile |
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puts it in a tidy pile of shame |
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And then my ol' favorite clown |
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paints on his faithful frown and plays |
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that old familiar game |
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of which i have no name but "Death" |
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We go marching |
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through these scorching times |
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our lungs are filled with dirt |
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but no amount of hurt |
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will stop us trying |
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We go marching |
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through these parching times |
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rain will come again |
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and just like distant friend |
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we'll both be crying |
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Oh that sweet awful sound |
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of my ol' favorite clown in need |
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i help him once again |
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to get back on his hands and knees |
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We go marching... |
