Oscillating between dream and reality
the herd walking face down
awaiting slaughter at the end of the road
led by a vicious evil clown
who shouts insults all day long
as he led the procession to town
scowl was in his face
as well as this unmistakable frown
with a stick on one hand
and in his head a wooden crown
And the herd walks with misplaced adulation
with a painful snap here and there
whenever on of them loses formation
using the stick that also serves as a scepter
and when one of them gets lost
the whole crowd will have to stop
as the clown recovers the renegade
and return it to its rightful place
and never a dull moment
nor anyone granted solace
Everyone has to conform to the herd
for it wasn't a battle nor a race
it was a way of life
never to be questioned nor analyzed
for if they do, suppose they can,
they will be greatly criticized
possibly ridiculed, possibly ignored
even pushed to the side
consequently facing the stick
or even stoned to death
by the rest of the herd, suppose they can
As no one questions the clown
nor the judgment of the group
the relationship gives a sense of equality
that everyone works for everybody's good
That is, until they get to the slaughterhouse
where the screams of their kind saturate the air
and the smell of violence fill their senses
in which they start to panic, sensing danger
and conjure plans of escape, suppose they can
but all of them knows it is too late
as the clown delivers them
to their new and usually lifelong masters
and then the cycle simply starts again
