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I am a clown: silly, simple clown. 
People do laugh at me: I often wonder why. 
They call me 'fool' when I am being honest, 
And tell me to shut up when I speak the truth. 

My life is harsh, and every day I struggle: 
I struggle to survive; I struggle to break through. 
And yet I do not scold my fortune. 
I do not growl, and I grumble not. 

I entertain, but rarely entertained, 
And smile when I do not feel like smiling. 
My age is old. My pleasures are too few. 
My youthful memories grow faint and disappear. 

I sleep where the she-night finds me, 
And wake where the he-morning scares her away.
He slowly comes, dignified and noble. 
She slowly leaves, flirtatious and lonesome. 

The morrow comes, bringing its timid sounds. 
A cock is out there, cockily cocking – rogue. 
He wakes me up, pretending not to notice. 
The morning sleep is a misdeed to him. 

I open eyes: the sky is still above me, 
And then get up, stretching my legs and arms. 
I manly yawn: I do not yawn like ladies. 
Finally ready to walk; to live; to be. 

Today is Sunday – glorious Sunday – 
The best day to earn, to gain, and to receive. 
When one has almost nothing, walking is always lovely.
Two steps at a time: no need to rush. 

I enter a plaza: the town's belly-button. 
A sea of things I see, yet few can buy. 
Bread, spinning famished heads around, 
Sweets, spirits there – anything you want.

Here I am, dancing on a wooden scaffold, 
And here, adults, watching, children, laughing mad.
They throw me coins: they know that I need them.
They know and love my tricks; I love them too. 

A clown is a godsend for every party. 
I dance, and jump, and somersault myself.
People are on cloud nine; in seventh heaven. 
I win again: the crowd is all mine.

Sunset; sundown; evenfall is here. 
The weary people have had enough. 
Alas, the daily play is over now; 
But life's play is still going on. 

I find me a lowly-lowly tavern: 
Buy meal and drink. What else a clown needs? 
All my life, I walk round and round. 
I have no home to go; no family to see. 

A b*tch is nearby, hungrily staring. 
She wants to get much more than I can give. 
I finish meal, and throw her leftovers: 
She swallows them before she reaches them. 

I suck the friendly bottle dry and hollow. 
It makes me warm, gently befuddling me. 
In daytime, I may be a clown; 
When drunk at night, I am a king of life.
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