It’s not fairground
The ratchet millipede ghost train,
one way only. No way back,
through the clattering doors.
Cue siren, wooo oo wooo
How can one fear the pouncing ghouls?
When they are from your cobweb album,
with the shadow of your past in every shot.
wooo oo wooo
Clattering back into the sunshine
white knuckled fist and a nonchalant smile.
See girls - piece of cake.
Fair grounds it is not.