Dancing with Death, the fool wheels round.
Jingel'ling-jangle, his bells here sound.
Leaping and light, the happy pair,
jokingly jumping through the air,
avoid the advance of warning friends
dreading the dangerous thoughts of ends.
Forever to fall, he hopes he'll fly—
Never to know the sea from sky.
Prancing they plunge into the deep,
laughingly lunging so's not to weep.
Horrid the howls of true despair;
sounds just the same as those two there.
I'm told that's a laugh and not a scream
by those who now warn me I'm lost in a dream
of right and wrong and up and down.
With deep, saddened frowns, they call me the clown.
Tale Told 