Circus nude

The ringmaster’s whistle cuts the air so clean, Like a sentence with no space to argue in I step inside the spotlight, feet too slow, As the crowd leans in to watch the show They don’t need tears, they don’t want pain to show— Just the perfect bow, the flawless act they know Oh-oh-oh, sorry Oh-la-la! Every move is timed, every pause a crime, Slipping on the floor like a joke that’s out of line The brass blows sharp, the beat won’t let me hide, Dancing to the rhythm they designed outside It’s not about the fall, it’s about the pride, Breaking quietly, just enough to satisfy Oh-oh-oh, sorry Oh-la-la! When the curtain falls, there’s no applause to hear, Only cold tile and the echo of the gear The spotlight fades, the music winds down slow, Leaving just the rules and nothing else to know This is the act, the only part I’ve got to play, So I keep my head down and I finish what they say Oh-oh-oh, sorry Oh-la-la! No second chances, no way to turn back now, The rhythm owns me, it’s got me in its grip somehow One wrong step, one missed beat—they’ll see it all the same, I’m just a puppet in this twisted carnival game Kick drum thunders, snare cracks like a whip in the dark, This beat is the rulebook, this beat is the mark Oh-oh-oh, sorry Oh-la-la!