All summer long, we boys
dreamed 'bout big circus joys!
Down Main street, comes the band,
Oh! "Aint it a grand and glorious noise!"
Horses are prancing, knights advancing;
Helmets gleaming, pennants streaming,
Cleopatra's on her throne!
That golden hair is all her own.
Where is the lady all in pink?
Last year she waved to me I think,
Can she have died? Can! that! rot!
She is passing but she sees me not.
