The bad luck raised suspicions, on a path that was beat down.

No one dared to look within or see the wise men in the town.

It was happening for eons, as long as Grandad could recall.

Like a dark foreboding plank walk or a dream in which you fall.

Until the child spoke her words that, “Maybe somethings wrong with me?”

So we made a meeting with the Doc, down at the Family Psychiatry.

The doctor raised awareness and we all took a look.

Things are looking so good now, might take Grandma off the hook.

Now life is far from perfect however the family’s not so sad.

Looking in the mirror, not blaming blind luck, good or bad.

I don’t know why my baby loves clowns.
Whose painted on tears never fall down.
I don’t know what she sees in their eyes
Perhaps the line between horror/surprise…

I don’t know why my baby can’t sing.
Why carnival music isn’t her thing.
It fills my head when I’m at the fair.
Searching for clues in clowns everywhere.

I don’t know why she screams at night.
I hope it’s not why she holds me so tight.
Because I’m the type I’m weak for love.
Carnival music I rise above.

Is it the pain or is it the tears?
For some carnival crime from yesteryears.
Maybe it’s you, maybe I’ll never know.
Maybe it’s me, baby let go.

(chorus)

Humpty Dumpty sat on the wall. Humpty Dumpty had a great fall.
All the kings horses and all the kings men.
Tried and they tried but she fell down again.

Humpty Dumpty sat on the wall Humpty Dumpty had a great fall
She went to her shrink ended up at the mall.
Humpty Dumpty wanted it all.

Dennis Mantin

Well, I heard you sigh.

I heard you groan.

Passed you by on the telephone.

Your neck was bent.

And you that stare.

Like life is done, and you’re going nowhere.

Well, I heard your plans.

When you were young .

Your smile was sharp, and your words were sung.

Don’t get mad.

It’s nothing new.

It happened to me. It can happen to you.

Well, it’s nothing new.

Now under the sun.

You had that fight, but you never won.

Well, you ever wonder?

How once in a while?

The best of plans that can make God smile?

They didn’t like the world.

Said they wanted change.

Said that I was busy.

But not too busy to arrange.

First, you take the language.

You turn it upside down.

When they get all silent.

You take the King and smash the crown.

Don’t you worry about the churches.

Cause you sent them all away .

Internets gone viral.

At that alter, you can pray.

All the brothers now are sisters.

And the sisters, they don’t lie.

And we are all so happy now.

Do not complain, or don’t you cry.

There’s a mystery and a memory.

And a past that seems so cold.

It’s a playground in the sunshine.

And the young they seem so old.

I was sitting on the bed and living in my head and saying something like:

‘It can not get any worse.’

There was this dreadful mess, and nothing like God bless. Just the sound of silence:

It’s not a promise or a curse.

It all begins with something, between the living and the dead.

The day I thought I’d get up and maybe make the bed.

It’s raining on a Monday…

The kids are home from school.

Something called P.A. day.

It’s a sort of golden rule.

We’re all sleeping in till later.

At least sleeping past the norm.

Then we go and watch a matinee.

Just riding out the storm.

I’ve been feeling fat and flabby, underwhelmed and uninspired.

Manage most days to rise from bed. Nothing more I see required.

I’ve been falling into nothingness. Nothingness is dark and dim.

Like a shallow mournful existence. Wherein no choirs are singing hymn.

Those silver linings they are hiding. Beneath the shadows down the hall.

And nothing good will come this way. There’s still time for one last call.

I tried the changes slowly.

The way the old go out in rain.

All in vain with not much Holy.

In the end, seemed quite insane.

We will batten down the hatches.

And will keep the powder dry.

I’ll keep praying here for something there.

As we sail for bluer sky.

N

There’s this feeling that’s just so nearly…

Like the battered and the bruised.

I wonder if I heard clearly.

Deep down, I’m just confused.

There’s a man who’s screaming something.

In the face of that sad clown.

There’s a juggler in the spotlight.

That didn’t use the right pronoun.

The siamese twins grow tired.

Two heads can not agree.

Cooperation is required.

No discernments they can see.

The wives they seem so angry.

The husbands have that look.

Doesn’t much matter which way I go.

Either way, I’m on the hook.

And the men