Der Zirkus brennt
A heap of broken images
The Inventor of sadness
Progress, this great heresy of decay
☉
Unbelief
Ol' Ash's Saloon
Right questions have no right answer
Things I don't like anymore
Ω
The circus burns. The audience fled at breakneck pace. The stands are empty, the big top full of smoke and flames. The clown is alone on the track, his sequins' costume shining in the glimmer of the fire. His face is white as lime, under the left eye shines an obliged tear, the crooked hat on the head. With a flashing trumpet he plays the farewell's great melody, sublime and ridiculous.
[M. Ende]