The Laughter and the Lonesome

It's getting very easy not to care
To travel in a circle
round ungraceful thoughts
Aren't we just enjoying this
scenery we've seen  
so many times before?

The lonesome tunes her violin
She's made of smoke, I think
But her puppets are fairly tangible

We're tripping over our breath
without shame
Teardrops burn in flames
Just as well as coal
and paper airplanes

Familiar
high-pitched tunes
pierce the air and
shatter
inside my head

Let's cut
the violin's strings - they are
a splinter in our happiness,
you see

Never mind the loner
She's an awful mess and  
anyway
her puppets surely make her happy
don't they?

I wouldn't know -  
our existence is too important to
bother with such
trivial matters...

We're sinking into ourselves
without shame.