Dark dreams crept over majesty
And in shadowed glades grew tragedy
Splicing hell over kingdoms of old
Wherein conquered graves lay legends,
Legends whom by us, cold, remain untold

In midnight sat The mire of misery
Finding purchase on the Jester's throne
Wingless born and headless walked
Bearing stigmata, and sacred oath
"To blemish worlds with bindings"
It gawked, so became constraints
Incurring seminally... ‘words’

And the Jester cried indignant yet expressionless
He felt the passion burn, and turn his insides dry
He felt the world within him and in him only a cry

So he spoke with tears through voices unsilenced
To worlds without bindings and unchained minds
And on his throne he wept of the world inside him
The world of expressive colours which slowly die

The mire laughed in feelings subdued
Malice joined with crescendo and surely knew
All things now were imperfect
All things now were untrue

But the Jester sighed and learned to speak
To ways beyond words he began to sing
And his voice resounded in perfect cue
From Rygle to Vega with flawless tune

The jester glared
For in where he whispered...
"It started with a passionate beat,
Unyielding, undying so satisfying a feat"

So then they knew... once more...
"All things now are imperfect"
"All things now are untrue"

It was a circus they had created
A show by many names
Of words like lion, expression
And danger, they heard the Jester yell
So stranger he roared with passion quite deadly
Finding functions for facets depraved of delight
And the circus bells went from ringing to rang
Oh they rang and rang with a terrible might

And on and on carried the circus tunes
From the warm melodies the Jester played
Over the kingdom of old twixt desert dunes
They rested beside where those legends, laid

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