Quand vient le vent avec les mains pleines de demain

Ich gehe nach mein viedersehen

to dry my poems in the rain.

          Merry-go-round

The people on the bus go up and down, up and down,

          up and down

And the broken carousel staggers to a stop

As the black  ponies are pulled out by their roots

And planted in Charlie's bar among the flowergirls

And the Charleston

takes us on our one way journey

through stone speakeasies

where smoking guns accompany

the moaning jazz:  as the slaves are called in

from the fields to entertain the frightened ghosts

and the cotton candy floats

on a tar lake:

while Helga lies across the bed,

her pale body brightened by streaks of red,

Sargeant Joe gives the order,

"No one is to touch the knife."

But Higgins pulls it out.

"I can't bear to watch the dead suffer."