Ghosts on the Carousel

In faded dusk, the mirrors lie. The horses turn, but never die.

A broken waltz beneath the stars where laughter echoes through the scars.

The music box has lost its key. Yet, still it plays

in minor key. The air is thick with sweet regret

of dreams the night won't let forget. Ghosts on the carousel.

Trapped in a spiral spell. Dancing in velvet decay.

Forever turning away. Ghosts on the carousel. Whispers too faint to tell.

Waltzing through shadows and dust in gears of sorrow and rust.