Charlie
I'm a loose cannon.
A cannon whose metal has rusted from the rain.
There I lay, amidst fallen pieces.
Ferris wheels.
Merry-go-rounds.
Nothing remains but this carnival of rust.
The Devil makes his rounds.
Evaluating the damage, planning how to turn it all to ash.
So many dreams were broken and so much was sacrificed.
Clowns cried tortured tears.
The freak-show faded into the crowd.
And I hear his roaring, delighted laughter ring through the hollow air.
All colours seem to fade away.
Sold for the price of freedom and all you received was the burden of guilt.
Among us lies a common goal.
To only be able to dream again.
To feel, for the rain to sooth and not rot.
Anything but love.
Well the rain has ruined the gunpowder.
And the Devil lurks on my shoulder with expectations.
But all that remains is my expendable metal frame.
The tin man.
Sold by the cowardly lion.
To the man without a face.