Clapham Junction

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From two o' clock until half past two he stands
At Clapham Junction in the grey Autumn rain
An audience which swells with each new train
Surrounding him; they laugh and clap their hands
Throwing green flowers, jeering as they fall
At the feet of this broken hearted clown
Once on his pedestal now fallen down
To the pillories where pariahs crawl.
The great performer destined to entertain
Now causes amusement that nought can exceed
A tragedy so mean as to induce mirth
What a dreadful thing to mock a soul in pain
To abhor a man for what was born at birth
Centre-stage in chains - entertainment indeed.





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