My voice is shaky, and my presence is weak
The raging-rushing masses won't hear me squeak
I want to shout, then they reach a peak
So I give up bothering to speak

There is something they just wanted me to say
Even if there's nobody to hear me bay
My lines, my words, rambling through the fray
They are like whores singing the day's lay

Is there no one who want me to be right here
And be at least the clown, the sad and austere?
I cannot shout or show my red sphere
I cry and my tears become a mere

But children laugh, they like the tiny skit
The clown-me bows and plays to forget he's still in a pit