Through the dust on the panes of my window
I watch a street show in the rain
The rusted spokes and the charcoal cloaks
The funeral below
Over puddles, streets of asphalt
The cortege treads slowly by
A design that once graced the black
Before the rain fall dissolved it of all the dye
Guessing expressingless faces
That faces the streets of monotony gain
Beggars underbidding for park place
The community chest is profane
By the tracks of the B&O railroad
There is erected a wooden hotel
I look at the bank
I'm belated to tell
The director is doing so well
Then the ground dried and hardened
After the clown died in Marvin Garden
The tragical mask of the comic
Has dissolved in the chronic frame
The circus enacting its final act
As I stare past the dust on the pane
I scrape off the dust with my shirt sleeve
And watch the pallbearers dressing in black
The hotel has been recently purchased
By a lion trainer that's gone mad