The has beens of the world

Seem to rise and want to be noticed.

Even a clown knows when his day is over,

And removes his false face, no more laughter.

Oh I hang my head down and whisper,

Should a clown in his last days whimper?

Yet with pride they hold their head up,

So us fools can gain their knowledge.

Oh to be ignorant again,

Not knowing right from wrong.

It was then I was at my best,

Holding my head, tied to a string.