He sings and dances and pleases the crowd
But no one sees behind his shroud
A lonely little man, with only half a chest
The other half had ran away, because it was what’s best.
Sitting in his study, pipe in hand, with a glass of wine.
He eyeballs the shotgun on the wall, why should he waste his time.
Never to be whole again, he takes comfort in holding his friend.
He tries and tries to find a reason, but it’s the season, for him to meet
But alas, he has no shells to blast
And so he lays down on the grass
A smoke here, a toke there, staring blindly into the air
Closing his eyes, her hair on his skin, her breath on his neck
Smiling slightly, momentarily content, until he gets a reality check.
Because things don’t end in such a way,
He will never have his day.
He shall wander aimlessly,
The hole in his chest, as wide as the sea.
But no one will notice, no one will care,
As long as he does his job at the fair.
Behind the fireworks and carefully crafted gags and jokes,
No one see’s that he’s just lost hope.