The Big Top's Coming Down.

Politics, schmolitics, and the circus is in town, the republican convention called to order by a clown. Purple clad transvestites swing on a trapeze as soldiers in fatigues fight a war overseas, all this talk of peace on earth seems like such a tease. The tightrope walker tunes out the sound of all the mass confusion coming from the ground, eyes straight ahead, focus empty head the big top’s coming down…as they pass the hat around singing about freedom as the audience is bound. The recruiters pound the streets walking up and down the beat seeking anarchist street clowns, hypnotizing dreamy starlets with the sparkles in their crowns, shimmering doubloons and empty promises of fame; it only costs your heart and soul if you want to play the game. Pick a card, assume the role as the prophesy is read, shooting star falls from heaven and awakes in the devil’s bed…and the goldfish fill their bellies as the children laugh with glee, tossing coins into the fountain they’re so alive and free. If you have a line and hook you’ll have enough to pay the fee, but does it really matter anyway? It’s never fun to have to say…The big top’s coming down.