The clowns of death are marching on their hideous parade
Their glaring eyes are filled with hate, but I am not afraid
Their painted faces cracked with age, their makeup old and worn
With tattered wings and toothy grins to amplify their scorn
They're looking for the helpless ones
They're looking for the misbegotten
They prey upon the weak and fractured
The crippled and the freaks of nature
Your sons and daughters, innocent, lay sleeping in their beds
They'll catch them when you're not around and smash their little heads
If you think it just a dream, or that it isn't fair
Just look around outside your door, the clowns are everywhere
