Из альбома: The Black Circus, Part 1: Letters
My dear friend
I have visited the freakshow in the circus
I am appalled at what I saw but at the same time it attracts me and makes me wonder who is the freak between the spectators and the sad souls performing
Some of them are amputated, some are mutilated
They’re marked and they’re scratched, as if cut by knives
Others are mentally abnormal and disfigured, but they have no other way to get
by in their lives
Stones and rotten fruit thrown at them are breaking them down day by day
It’s an immense institution of humiliation
I’m sure the screams of pain and endless disgrace will haunt them forever
To me it’s organised desecration
But when the curtain finally falls and the crowds recede, the show is over and
done
The freaks of the show are counting their money and fall asleep one by one
They repress the fact that tomorrow will be another day, so they silently dream
away, trying in their minds to keep out the unease and meet the scoffing,
come what may
Oh, what money can make people do…