The Machinist climbs his ferris wheel like a brave
And the fireeater's lyin' in a pool of
sweat victim of the heatwave,
Behind the tent the hired hand tightens
his legs on the sword swallowers blade,
Circus town's on the shortwave
Well the runway lies ahead like a great false dawn
Whoa, fat lady, big mama, Missy Bimbo
sits in her chair and yawns
And the man-beast lies in his cage
sniffing popcorn
As the midget licks his fingers and
suffers Missy Bimbo's scorn
Circus town's been born
Whoa and a press roll drummer go,
ballerina to-and-fro cartwheelin' up on that
tightrope,
With a cannon blast, lightin' flash,
movin' fast through the tent, Mars bent,
He's gonna miss his fall,
Oh God save the human cannonball.
And the flying Zambini's watch Marguarita do
her neck twist,
And the ringmaster gets the crowd to count along:
95, 96, 97.
A ragged suitcase in his hand, he steals silently
away from the circus grounds,
And the highway's haunted by the carnival sounds
They dance like a great greasepaint ghost on the
wind,
A man in baggy pants, a lonely face, a crazy grin,
Runnin' home to some small Ohio town
Jesus, send some sweet women to save all your clowns
And circus boy dances like a monkey on barbed wire,
And the barker romances with a junkie,
she's got a flat tire,
And now the elephants dance real funky and
the band plays like a jungle fire,
Circus town's on the live wire.
And the strong man Sampson lifts the midget,
little Tiny Tim, up on his shoulders, way up
And carries carries him on down the midway past
the kids, past the sailors, to his dimly lit trailer
And the ferris wheel turns and turns like it ain't
ever gonna stop,
And the circus boss leans over and whispers in
the little boy's ear,
Hey son you want to try the big top?
All aboard, Nebraska's our next stop.