The difference between reservation and preservation is hanging dong on a special occasion, on the shoulders of friends. How we laughed then. Then he did it again. Again and again. Again, and again, and again, and again, and again.
He left the ringmaster for dead, and led the circus out the tent. So we went, surged through field and passers-by, past the farmsteads, passing cries – to the skyline. What heads would turn for those left behind when we were so hell-bent on purpose? The strongman took the point, he tore through the crowd in that market like old paper. And the tailor's daughter, she begged for Providence. He did proffer her overhead, an offering to harsher gods, mind. Safe from the slaughter. Blessed and helpless. Then I stumbled upon the rapers. The bearded girl held fast. Her cries for a saviour met the vacant smiles of jugglers, juggling razors in the clamour to shave her.
A travelling troupe, travelling tropes.
Save us. Take us home. Those were the last sounds I heard before the slitting of throats.
And I'm taking notes on the way out...
Fuck this show - your two-bit hole. Are we all fucking clowns? You're made up or pied out.
Clapping louder than thunder without truly understanding what we clap for. We care, we share, we scroll on. With the very qualities that condemn us most loudly applauded. The laudable trail a parade of a fallen world. Squat on a pot for fool's gold.
What often was expressed was never that well said. We, the culprits of vain distractions - turning cheek and talking shit. I'll do my best to try and make amends. This manuscript never ends, and it's never left unread, while the rest live on a shelf. What oft' was expressed was ne'er well said.
We left the ringmaster for dead.
from Social Media Circus,
released July 25, 2015
Recorded at Empora Studios by Mark Roberts
Mastered at Hell Yeah! Mastering.