Trying To Explain the Circus to a Man Who's Never Been

There's a circus nearby, just on the outer edge of town
Lots of lights, and foods, where  noises are always found
The ringmaster sits down now upon a funny little chair
And he looks quite mad, as though enough to pull out hairs
Don't mistake me now, his stated angst is not akin to anger
For peanuts and popcorns and elephants are dancing in the hanger
The show is soon to start within the hour and all have made to watch
Aisles have filled their seats quickly, No chair left in the bunch
What will the hatter do for tricks, tight ropes or something ever tragic
No, not the rabbit pulling kind, but he always knows some magic
His heart is jumping,, lurching,  thumping on his badly, tattered sleeve
And in his mind he races, to the beat of  his ticker's illustrious greed
Every summer's eve at night fall do the tickets sell out quick
A great tent bulging with folks from all each nook and crick
All to watch the elusive but spirited chap tame another headed beast
Each one has grown larger in size, some of them as well in feat
Such a sad little show displayed, like a movie played from spool
To discern the timeless riddles as they are spitten' by a hull
No not the peanuts, the ones that may be crumbling at your feet
But another form of shells, The ones that speak of broken beats
Or songs, depending on where you first did learn to speak
The show goes on for hours, or years its seems at least
 Until the circus man does tire or the last goer leaves their seat
That which happens first, does often vary from week to week
A sweat now pours from the master's coat adorned with ties
Odd recollections of his, from the journeys' of his life
Only when the lights go off though, does the circus ever begin
For who knows themselves better than away from all their friends
Love and work and fun and faith and life and death and sin
Who can balance their weight and not be trapped away in bins
A tired man just dying to hear his voice amongst the jungle of the crowd
Trapped once more in endless whens like a dreamer inside a shroud
Just before the last hour does one last ticket holder approach the climb
Standing back from amongst the crowd, waits his destiny in line
The years of salted tears though, they have left him all but blind
And alas he cannot see the rainbow's end just like every other time