Outside, the storm clouds gathering
moved silently along the dusty boulevard,
where flowers turning crane their fragile necks,
so they can in turn reach up and kiss the sky.

They are driven by a strange desire,
unseen by the human eye.
Someone is calling.

I remember when you held my hand
in the park we would play,
when the circus came to town... over here!

Outside, the circus gathering
moved silently along the rainswept boulevard.
The procession moved on, the shouting is over,
the fabulous freaks are leaving town.

They are driven by a strange desire,
unseen by the human eye.
Someone is calling...
The carnival is over...

We sat and watched,
as the moon rose again,
for the very first time