Step right up
There is no choice,
And sing to loose a frozen voice.
Within the throat a shredded song,
70 winters come and gone.
Round and round and round she goes.
Will it stop?
Please God,
Someone?
Knows…
Winter, Spring, Summer, fall
Again, again,
And that is all?
Behind tormenting repetition
Awaits a blessed extradition;
And in this mean time,
With a grin
A dime to spin,
a dime to win.
