Red paint peels off in the salt air
Cold wind hits a wooden stair
Iron wheels are locked in place
Winter lines a tired face
He is the ghost of a carnival game
Waiting for someone to call out his name
Sinking in mud where the clover grows wild
Once he was golden and loved by a child
Tickets flutter on the ground
Not a single happy sound
Cotton candy sticks to glass
Watching all the seasons pass
He is the ghost of a carnival game
Waiting for someone to call out his name
Sinking in mud where the clover grows wild
Once he was golden and loved by a child
Brake lines snapped a year ago
Now the heavy waters flow
Rust is eating through the steel
Spinning on a frozen wheel
He is the ghost of a carnival game
Waiting for someone to call out his name
Sinking in mud where the clover grows wild
Once he was golden and loved by a child
Benches rot in autumn rain
Metal hums a low refrain
Empty booths and locked-up doors
Dusty boots on wooden floors
The operator walked away
Left him in the grey of day
No more coins to flip or spin
No more prizes left to win
October leaves cover the track
Knowing that they won't come back
One last bolt begins to slide
Deep inside the rusty ride
He is the ghost of a carnival game
Waiting for someone to call out his name
Sinking in mud where the clover grows wild
Once he was golden and loved by a child
Just a heap of orange rust.
Turning slowly into dust.
The ride is still.
