With broken fingers I weave life's tapestry
I am in darkness, with no control as to how the cards will fall
I just manage the deck
I morose funk hangs over me, it comes and it goes like the professional harlet

Send in the clowns they said
By all means try it, but do be prepared for the mass of blood and red noses
For I am in no mood for such twisted capers

Like the spring hare, I shall run and run
Knowing the second I stop, if only to catch breath it will all be over
I then become the prey

Even the man built from clay with the strength of seven is of little consequence
As the carpet is ripped from beneath his feet
A stench, as bad as death fills the air, as the desperate lothario enters the shed

With him he brings all the self-assured arrogance of the hangman
Today he is safe, tomorrow he is over

Alone in my bed I revisited the days occurrences, making all the necessary alterations
An apology is weak, a regret is retched

A figure appears on the horizon, as it approaches it begins to take shape
A man, I notice his head looks towards his feet
As if unable to meet my gaze, he looks familiar

Who by shame brings this bad news
It is you, the hangman

Do come in