The wheel, it turns and turns and turns, The music pipes its happy sound; But I sit gray and empty here, Upon this cold and windy ground The carnival is everywhere, It's in the eyes of passers-by; The wheel, it turns and turns and turns -- We're born We grow We love We die
He held her hand as up they rose.
The “Swingabout” the ride was named;
Their hearts were racing then, in time,
For love was young and not ashamed
But now he rides here all alone.
She’s married, grown and moved away;
And hope has gone, like dying day —
Like fading light
At dying
Day
How can you not be happy here?
It’s Paris, you’re a lucky guy!
I know, I know, I should be glad,
And I can’t really tell you why
I feel (or don’t feel) how I do;
It’s more than simply feeling ‘blue’
It’s like I cannot feel at all,
The lights are down, the shade is drawn;
It’s Paris, and it’s beautiful –
But all of that’s within me gone.
Beside this carousel I feel
Reproachful looks my way addressed;
I wish I wasn’t made this way,
That I was not so damned
Depressed
Come ride the roller coaster, friends;
It’s every curve will bring you thrills.
You’ll laugh, you’ll cry, you’ll scream and shout,
On its embankments and its hills
Try not to see its disrepair,
Or notice, when you’re off the ride,
The tawdriness that’s in the air:
The scent of urine, dust, and pride –
For so we’re made up in the end:
Whatever coasters we may chance
In vain attempt to stem the pain
Of emptiness
And circumstance
