It's evening in a garden
  Full of people holding drinks.
Words have been abandoned.
  They're replaced by nods and winks.

The people there are happy
  With this fine day's peaceful end,
Forgetting the beginning.
  Bad memory's a good friend.

If I remembered everything
  I wouldn't do a thing at all.
I'd ask the question 'Why?'
  And wait for answers from the wall.

And yes, I do a lot of that,
  But it's not all I do.
I'm very good at chopping wood
  And getting colds and flu.

The wall is a good friend of mine.
  It hardly ever says a word.
Most of what you hear is useless
  And dangerous, or so I've heard.

Strangers meet in happy times,
  And sad times follow soon.
You'd struggle to avoid the pin
  That bursts the red balloon.

The future's representative
  Will often hide behind
The garden shed or hedges.
  You'd have to be quite blind

Not to see through their disguise:
  A red wig like a clown's,
Clown-like tear-soaked make-up,
  And beer-stained wedding gowns.

Some people will ignore them,
  Pretend that they can't hear
The sobbing from behind the hedge.
  They'll shut the door on fear.

But fear can be a useful force.
  My friend the wall agrees.
Its silence can express assent
  And faint despairing pleas.

Shades of silence come and go
  As evening enters night.
Other worlds are visible
  In bright electric light.

The night is full of dangers.
  Fears are warning signs,
Undermined by clown heads
  But dressed up to the nines.

Twilight on suburban streets
  Brings people out to play.
Some things are just beginning
  As we near the end of day.

Old street fighters like the sound
  Of crickets after dark,
A gleaming sword in one hand.
  In the other hand, a shark.

Wielding weapons for the fight,
  A trip down memory lane,
An old suburban avenue
  Where clowns are in the drain.

You'll see their wigs through metal grills.
  They're saying 'stop and think'.
You're fighting an old lady
  Who is wearing her best mink.

Her coat's alive and full of teeth.
  Your shark will be afraid.
Her many layers of clothing
  Will soon repel your blade.

Run away into the night.
  Fade into the dark.
Run away with stray dogs
  Who'll leave behind their bark.

You'll hear the bark at midnight
  But the dog is miles away,
Dozing with a pleasant dream
  Or acting in a play.

Five or six street fighters
  Will join forces in retreat.
They'll end up at a party
  And they'll stare down at their feet.

Failures are forgotten,
  Humiliations gone.
Minds erase the many words
  That follow 'Dear' and 'John'.

Even when the clowns arrive
  No one sheds a tear.
The end of day's a perfect time
  To take a break from fear.

I'll be there with drink in hand,
  Forgetting all I've done,
Or haven't done and will not do,
  Remembering all I've won.

Or haven't won and will not win,
  But winning is for losers.
Languishing in last place
  Is the choice of clever choosers.

Taking part's important.
  There's glory in each fall.
And all you need to take part
  Is a sympathetic wall.