The tent is veined with stripes of black and white,
The crowd inside is cheering with all their might.
For them to witness such magic,
Such trance,
To them it’s just like the beauty of a dance.

I step through the tent doors and look around me,
All is dark except dirt instead no floor.
You look around and see the people at the edge of their seat,
All waiting for the girl on the target to become the lions meet.

All viewers watch, waiting for the performers to crash,
At the end they see that the show was a smash.
The audience tries to find a glitch, or invisible strings,
But at the end, all are spell bound when the fat lady sings.

What’s magic to me,
Is when the woman rides the white horses,
They are Beautiful and wild.
It’s as if they are floating on air,
Immune to gravity and space.
There’s something about this place,
Wither it be illusions or strings,
Or recordings or metal rings.
No matter the secrets, no matter how they achieve
To me its magic,
I never want to leave