All summer long we boys
dreamed ’bout circus joys!
Down Main Street comes the band,
Oh! Ain’t 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.