The weeds weaving in my direction,
The quicksand braces me
With its gentle, sinking, suffocating feeling.
The dawn of day holds unimaginable beauty
Of disbelif and decay.
The rain pulls down again
Born on a persistent 19th of June.
With the pain taking hold again,
No, No, No, No
I know that I'm alone within
I can feel the pain pull down again.
I miss the taste of the ferris wheel,
Of the fair.
As with the culture of China,
The dark-skinned children dance.
The circus elephant mauled and killed
The club bouncer.
But why, Mr. Announcer?
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