Beneath the glow of painted skies,
Where dreams and shadows intertwine,
The neon circus spins its lies,
And secrets whisper in the brine.
Each tent a world, each act a myth,
A carnival of wonder and woe.

At dusk, when twilight's veil descends,
The clowns put on their masks with glee,
Their painted faces hide all ends,
Where laughter hides from tragedy.
Beneath the big top's shimmering dome,
They dance to tunes of sorrow and mirth.

Silent acrobats leap through air,
Their feats as graceful as a dream.
With every flip and twist, they share
A silent language, swift and clean.
No words are needed; just the grace,
Of bodies moving in perfect time.

The fortune teller's gaze pierces souls,
In crystal balls of shimmering light.
She sees beyond the circus roles,
To futures veiled by starry night.
Her cards reveal the heart's dark truth,
Where love and loss embrace like thieves.

And as the stars begin to twinkle bright,
The carousel starts its slow, sweet spin.
Horses leap into the moonlit night,
As children laugh without a care within.
A moment caught in time's soft grip,
In Dusk's embrace, pure joy takes flight.

THE HOUSE
[ GameBot ] — the table never sleeps
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