In autumn he comes to this town
When the peoples guard is down
On a day like today
Overcast and gray
Bells were all ringing
The birds stopped their singing
The wind caught in the trees
Screaming to be free
He alights from the platform
In his usual uniform
His skin looks like he slept in it
Or had something rotten kept in it
And snakes stir in the thistles
Back of cats neck bristles
'Round vicious lips the fur is stained
The disillusionist is back again
They say that he's famous from the waist down
But the top half of his body is a corpse
His gold won't buy him sleep
His poverty runs so deep
In winter he cracks, in summer he warps
Hang around the backstage door
But he knows what you're waiting for
You rub yourself against his fame
Already ready to bear the blame
He asks you
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