It was the illusion itself
He painted on himself,
The buffering that multiplied the pain.

When all was done and said,
When all was clowned and dead
And the beauty itself was bled
Whiter than an angel's wing
When he fell off the tightrope
And limped away,

It was the illusion itself
He painted on himself,
The buffering that multiplied the pain.

For this man
And this crowd,
It would be much the same:
No pity can remain.
While you listen to the music,
My heart beats silently.
The mask does not protect;
It creates intensity.

It was the illusion itself
He painted on himself,
The buffering that multiplied the pain.
 
It is the illusions themselves,
We wrap around ourselves,
The buffering that multiplies our pain.



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"The Wounded Clown" is featured on the CD Comin' at ya by singer-songwriter Tommy Fox on Cozy Rock Records.

Copyright © 2007 by Bradley Steffens