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All clowns do have a trick to give a laugh although their hearts are sick,
Upon their faces gleaming grins are glued with miles of smiles all hued,
And lofty laughter's just their frozen forte from books of circus' sort.

And mourners whimper, wail and weep although their tears are fast asleep,
And when the tears are found, the mourning mob gives its so-called sob,
While others cry, the rest just sigh, no chance to try to question why.

And on the stage of life they act with every grace and care and tact,
While limelight streams across the stage as fingers flip a book's first page,
The music starts, the voices fade and soon begins the pride parade.

The clowns do stunts and show some tricks with great delight, with clever flicks,
But one of them laughs much too loud, much more than what is just allowed,
His laughter chokes him till he dies with pools of tears that flood his eyes.

The mourners' chance to steal the show has come, it's crying time they know
They soak the dead clown with their tears and hope their wails the audience 
hears
But then their weeping drones too much, the viewers frown, their scalps they 
scratch

And now the clowns they dance no more, their brother's corpse still on the floor
Down on their knees they make no sound, they feel they're lost, they look around
And whent they weep and wailed at last, the crying clowns disband their cast.

And so the mourners get the right to own the stage, to make the sight,
They sing and cheer, their faces bright, they tease the clowns with much delight,
And there upon the stage they dance the merry-making mourners' dance.

Well, what a sight, and such a scoop, while mourners prance, the clowns just 
stoop
The audience laughs at such a joke, they say the chick swallows the hawk
A change of roles, a change of souls, the lights go out, down crash the walls!
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