Pony
The music will not leave my head
I hear it from all sides
i'm that worn out little pony
on your favourite fairground ride
one beat brings me up
the next one brings me down
as round and round I travel
the lurching merry-go-round
the gilt has gone
the paintwork's faded
and on the wooden floor
beneath my once proud head
lie the gentle indentations of the quiet
tears I've shed
still they keep on winding up
the mechanical music box
each one taking turns to climb up on
my back
one day their arms will tire
the music will slow down
and I'll be that tattered pony
on the rusted carousel
