look behind the orange-and-white barrel on I-294,
there are rodeo clowns.
they hide behind them, i swear.
no sir, i'm not having "white-line-fever", i swear.
this is real.
i saw one peep his red nose out,
and saw his white face.
i was blessed with this vision,
for you see,
i faced my horrors already, and have nothing to lose.
i tossled with the demons in the pit.
i saw their eyes, blazing with hellfire.
they say i'm crazy.
they don't believe me.
i am in a sea of wonders, of doubt, i fear.
i see these things.
i must keep them to myself.
i must face my fears, and keep my mind open.
the clowns are going to get us,
i am sure of it...
but i have the upper hand.
i have a clown suit.
i have grease paint.
i have a plastic, red nose.
i am ready to conform.
i'll blend right in.
the voices in my head tell me,
"they won't get you."
highways are always dangerous places.
i'm a travelin' gypsy.
i have all my tricks, down pat.
i am just like the rodeo clowns.
i'm heading out west now.
maybe i'll join a wild-west show...
be a real rodeo clown.
i can make some steady cash.
i can buy some peyote.
this life is too bleak, without illusion.
a clown's life is more honest.
the straight life, kills one's soul.
the authorities walk the straight line,
the insane line...
they don't love,
they rape and plunder,
i'll run with the tribal ones...
the ones who wear grease paint,
instead of institutional gray.
I won't go back to these harsh places.