The Greatest Show on Earth
Hello, boys and girls,
Ladies and gentleman,
You all look full of mirth…
Welcome, one and all,
To The Barnum & Bailey Circus,
The greatest show on earth.
We’ve got clowns and bears,
Bengals and dare-devils,
Fire-throwers spitting flame;
Lions gilt and bears and jugglers,
No act of which could ever be tamed.
But the best act of the show is you, my dears,
My audience, here this bright day.
How gloomy it is, how curious to know
That you won’t see the part you’ll play.
So spoke the Ringmaster,
Voice mellifluous,
But undertone quite dry.
No matter, thought the people-ants,
We’ll give this game a try.
They sat against their canvas walls,
Tiny antennae prickled
As they guessed what was meant
By words interpreted fuzzy, somewhat fickle.
All a part of the act, they supposed,
All a part of the show.
Denizens of Hartford, Connecticut --
A large city, no doubt,
From the sight of thousands of tiny hands
And clamoring applause
Which filled the big top aglow.
And so the first act began:
Bengal tigers lined up carefully,
Lifted onto striped hind legs
Like old trees, tall and wise.
They stared at all the little ants
And the little ants stared back
Into dark transparent eyes;
The souls of tigers
Burning like coal,
Sensing some gloomier skies.
But how much knowledge is worth knowing
When it comes from a menagerie?
Surely it would only bend and break,
Not worth a minute, or two, or three.
As the tigers roared and leaped and jumped
Performing many an act,
The little ants
Began to panic and fluster;
It seemed they’d been attacked.
A roar was heard which overshadowed
The tigers’ tiny cries
Making them seem more like kittens than wild beasts
As they roared quietly that they had tried.
Eyes all darted to the sound,
Faces contorted with great horror,
As they saw sparks: flitting, flying, crying
In the little ant hut’s corner.
The Ringmaster carried on with the kittens
As the fire roared;
Screams filled the lungs of the ants
And you couldn’t hear those kittens anymore.
Yet somehow you could still hear soft laughter
Like a trickling faucet leaks lies
Next to a waterfall of clangor and gasps and screams
Next to little boys clutching their mothers,
Who stared with gaping eyes
Transparent as the kittens’:
Helpless, yet full of knowledge.
Clutching misplaced alibis.
In time unchanging, another moment
A spotted clown, red face and wig
Moved forward to redeem himself
From his position as a joke, a laugh, a gig.
Being a hero, he couldn’t be though,
Because he could only try;
In removing his role as a gag
Clown Red would be the first reason
For a half-mast flag to fly.
Now a hero, coming to extinguish
The fire of no cause apparent.
Feet shuffled as the ants tried to escape
Tell them how? Ringmaster daren’t.
Poor things didn’t realize that they weren’t trapped
At all, no, not a bit.
But of course, Ringmaster would never tell them
To lift up a corner, climb right under
And remove themselves from the pit.
And so all hope was on the clown,
Red wig and painted smile
As he grabbed a bucket filled with water
And tried to douse the fire.
But a drop in the bucket
Was all it was, not enough to redeem
The world, or ants, or kittens or Clown Red
From Death’s stubborn grasp, it seemed.
Nothing was left to do
And the little ants held each other close.
Flames spread carefully, mockingly
Around the edges of the canvas
Spitting at wasted hope.
As flames grew brighter, the ants grew frantic
Fireworks, yellows and oranges, danced in their heads
Like sugar plum fairies
Like the frantic ideas they tried to come up with
As they began to welcome their death beds.
And all the while,
Ringmaster sat with a smile
Upon a small soapbox.
Not fearing Death, but savoring the taste:
Sour and sweet; cunning fox.
And as a smile curled onto his face,
Striking like the Cheshire Cat’s,
He spoke with dark, bold tone:
Well, now you’ve learned the trick,
My dears, you’ve become a part of the show.
I watch you roar and leap and jump
Like the little kittens which knew
And tried to tell you with eyes so wise
The fate I’d now bestow upon you.
I know you want to see the rest:
The show’s the greatest on Earth!
But you’ll be dead by then, my dears,
And then what would it be worth?
To tell you how I’ve planned the plot
To cause your untimely demise
(A plan you bet is set in stone --
Oh, dears, ’tis otherwise)…
I was you, one time, young, alive
With my father at the show
Seeing the elephants roar,
When off with my father’s head
Quick and clean the elephants tore.
And that was the show stopper,
Yes, it stopped the show.
For some of them, but not for me
As I slowly crafted my great revenge
Which was sure to follow.
What is the meaning, you may say,
Of such a horrid thing?
That you, too, are able to see
And feel, so the future will be gained:
As you die, the future will live and replan their lives
And be reborn again.
Like Way, who saw the towers fall
And sought to save others’ lives.
Like the Phoenix, with loyal love,
Would save one when called.
It may appear that I myself
Need to do the same.
However, it’s too late for me, my dears;
I’ve already lost Death’s game.
You’re the ringleader of your life, my dears,
You just have to take control.
But it’s too late now, and I see the clown
Is only helping you to Hell’s vast shore.
I hope, indeed, that Death, whom you’ll soon know
Will not meet you in vain;
That from your eyes, a different eye
Shall be what the future holds.
Clown Red tried his best to help you find
A way to trick your fate into turning upside-down
But it’s a sorry end, thoughts not counted;
Although good thoughts are rare in clowns.
I’m sorry, my dears,
But the finale is here;
Too bad you have to go.
And the gloomiest part about it is,
You won’t even see the show.
Ladies and gentleman,
You all look full of mirth…
Welcome, one and all,
To The Barnum & Bailey Circus,
The greatest show on earth.
We’ve got clowns and bears,
Bengals and dare-devils,
Fire-throwers spitting flame;
Lions gilt and bears and jugglers,
No act of which could ever be tamed.
But the best act of the show is you, my dears,
My audience, here this bright day.
How gloomy it is, how curious to know
That you won’t see the part you’ll play.
So spoke the Ringmaster,
Voice mellifluous,
But undertone quite dry.
No matter, thought the people-ants,
We’ll give this game a try.
They sat against their canvas walls,
Tiny antennae prickled
As they guessed what was meant
By words interpreted fuzzy, somewhat fickle.
All a part of the act, they supposed,
All a part of the show.
Denizens of Hartford, Connecticut --
A large city, no doubt,
From the sight of thousands of tiny hands
And clamoring applause
Which filled the big top aglow.
And so the first act began:
Bengal tigers lined up carefully,
Lifted onto striped hind legs
Like old trees, tall and wise.
They stared at all the little ants
And the little ants stared back
Into dark transparent eyes;
The souls of tigers
Burning like coal,
Sensing some gloomier skies.
But how much knowledge is worth knowing
When it comes from a menagerie?
Surely it would only bend and break,
Not worth a minute, or two, or three.
As the tigers roared and leaped and jumped
Performing many an act,
The little ants
Began to panic and fluster;
It seemed they’d been attacked.
A roar was heard which overshadowed
The tigers’ tiny cries
Making them seem more like kittens than wild beasts
As they roared quietly that they had tried.
Eyes all darted to the sound,
Faces contorted with great horror,
As they saw sparks: flitting, flying, crying
In the little ant hut’s corner.
The Ringmaster carried on with the kittens
As the fire roared;
Screams filled the lungs of the ants
And you couldn’t hear those kittens anymore.
Yet somehow you could still hear soft laughter
Like a trickling faucet leaks lies
Next to a waterfall of clangor and gasps and screams
Next to little boys clutching their mothers,
Who stared with gaping eyes
Transparent as the kittens’:
Helpless, yet full of knowledge.
Clutching misplaced alibis.
In time unchanging, another moment
A spotted clown, red face and wig
Moved forward to redeem himself
From his position as a joke, a laugh, a gig.
Being a hero, he couldn’t be though,
Because he could only try;
In removing his role as a gag
Clown Red would be the first reason
For a half-mast flag to fly.
Now a hero, coming to extinguish
The fire of no cause apparent.
Feet shuffled as the ants tried to escape
Tell them how? Ringmaster daren’t.
Poor things didn’t realize that they weren’t trapped
At all, no, not a bit.
But of course, Ringmaster would never tell them
To lift up a corner, climb right under
And remove themselves from the pit.
And so all hope was on the clown,
Red wig and painted smile
As he grabbed a bucket filled with water
And tried to douse the fire.
But a drop in the bucket
Was all it was, not enough to redeem
The world, or ants, or kittens or Clown Red
From Death’s stubborn grasp, it seemed.
Nothing was left to do
And the little ants held each other close.
Flames spread carefully, mockingly
Around the edges of the canvas
Spitting at wasted hope.
As flames grew brighter, the ants grew frantic
Fireworks, yellows and oranges, danced in their heads
Like sugar plum fairies
Like the frantic ideas they tried to come up with
As they began to welcome their death beds.
And all the while,
Ringmaster sat with a smile
Upon a small soapbox.
Not fearing Death, but savoring the taste:
Sour and sweet; cunning fox.
And as a smile curled onto his face,
Striking like the Cheshire Cat’s,
He spoke with dark, bold tone:
Well, now you’ve learned the trick,
My dears, you’ve become a part of the show.
I watch you roar and leap and jump
Like the little kittens which knew
And tried to tell you with eyes so wise
The fate I’d now bestow upon you.
I know you want to see the rest:
The show’s the greatest on Earth!
But you’ll be dead by then, my dears,
And then what would it be worth?
To tell you how I’ve planned the plot
To cause your untimely demise
(A plan you bet is set in stone --
Oh, dears, ’tis otherwise)…
I was you, one time, young, alive
With my father at the show
Seeing the elephants roar,
When off with my father’s head
Quick and clean the elephants tore.
And that was the show stopper,
Yes, it stopped the show.
For some of them, but not for me
As I slowly crafted my great revenge
Which was sure to follow.
What is the meaning, you may say,
Of such a horrid thing?
That you, too, are able to see
And feel, so the future will be gained:
As you die, the future will live and replan their lives
And be reborn again.
Like Way, who saw the towers fall
And sought to save others’ lives.
Like the Phoenix, with loyal love,
Would save one when called.
It may appear that I myself
Need to do the same.
However, it’s too late for me, my dears;
I’ve already lost Death’s game.
You’re the ringleader of your life, my dears,
You just have to take control.
But it’s too late now, and I see the clown
Is only helping you to Hell’s vast shore.
I hope, indeed, that Death, whom you’ll soon know
Will not meet you in vain;
That from your eyes, a different eye
Shall be what the future holds.
Clown Red tried his best to help you find
A way to trick your fate into turning upside-down
But it’s a sorry end, thoughts not counted;
Although good thoughts are rare in clowns.
I’m sorry, my dears,
But the finale is here;
Too bad you have to go.
And the gloomiest part about it is,
You won’t even see the show.