That road to the rodeo?

You walk on ahead, but there's nothing to look forward to.
Nothing but the horizon.
Just the same skyline, with the same sun moving across it.
The same skyline that took your breath away the first time you saw it, and the same one that became increasingly painful to look at,
as you trudge across the dirt to the land beyond it.

What's beyond that, you ask me as we drag our tired bodies.
All we imagined, and so much more, I repeat again.
My lies beginning to drag me down,
but we trudge on ahead.

My black backpack's stuffed with broken dreams,
you remember.
But your lies keep you moving, you cannot cave in, not now.
Not when the eyes of the boy beside you widen with hope when he sees the skyline.
The skyline you chose to mark your paths.
The same skyline you conjured your stories from.

Sweat, sand, dirt and dust.
But what do you care.
Your lies brought you this far.




But you know what the truth is that lies ahead,
the truth that the sun keeps shining on your face,
day after day, lie after lie.
Nothingness, it awaits you, nothingness is what you've promised.
And when you've spent years faulting your loves,
you crumble when you realise, it could have possibly been you all along.
You're the freak.
You're the circus clown behind a mask, behind the paint,
underneath all that protection, hidden.
Safe.
Or so you thought.

I'm the freak.
I'm the circus clown behind my mask, and my paint.
Underneath all that false protection, supposedly hidden beneath blames.
Safe.
But now I know.