The woman reposes in silken sheets;
She dreams of wild and peculiar things,
Of dazzling magic and dangerous feats
And wonders only the circus can bring.
The dark air is strung with flashes of light
As spectators gasp and, awestruck, applaud.
The tent attracts locals out for the night
And travellers coming from far abroad.
But she does not know the other story,
The lines in between, the alternate plot.
There is a nightmare behind all the glory,
A pale hand waiting to hold your throat taught.
The woman sleeps, and dreams, and never fears
The monster that, behind the stage, appears.
