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For anyone going through a rough time, you're never on your own |
Carnivale In this festival of terrors, this carnival of souls, Lost amidst the letters, word and sentence take their toll So silent in our vacuums, thermos flasks in which we dwell, where stress climbs high and doubts consume, ... our special slice of hell Unique and custom made for us, designed, built by ourselves Where all the things we darent discuss are hidden, high on shelves Buried in a darkness deep, in alcoves of our minds Shrouded 'midst such starkness steep, neath cobwebs hard to find Spider's webs that ancor on to all the things we hide In boxes fears linger on, imagined sins inside Shrouded neath the many tents, lit brightly in the field 'midst rousing beats, the heart consents and souls reluctant yield Yield to the chaos reaped, the rapture of the night Where spirits fly in darkness steeped, streaked through with cadanced light A light that comes through letting go and letting in such sights A light that shines to those who know, to those lost in their plight Tangled in their spider's webs, snared up in their doubts, blackened thoughts as darkness ebbs, whilst echoes hold their clout Resounding round such rafters raw, the canopy of tents Through stages stunned at sights we saw, left too afraid to vent Too much pride to take a fall, too proud to even choose Standing, backs against a wall, with nothing left to lose Rocking midst the tremors felt as strobing lights console This festival of terrors dwelt ... this carnival of souls |