He was neither imposing nor sprightly.
Not a hero out of a table
In his own curious way, with some verve
He was walking through life, stepping lightly
High above our heads on a cable
Stretched taut as a nerve.

Look, he’s walking without
Any belt, any net.
If he leans too far out -
He’s a goner, he’s dead!

He is dead, anyway, If he slips, if he sways...
He is crazy, that fellow If he wants to play
With death all four fourths of the way.

 
 
 
 
 
 

 
 
 
 

 
 
 

Spotlights blinded him, searing as lava,
Lights like pinpricks - Steady! Slowly...
The trumpet mourned as for the dead.
He was deafened by shrill cries of Bravo!
And the kettledrums kept rolling -
As if pounding him on the head!

Look, he’s walking without
Any belt, any net.
If he leans too far out -
He’s a goner, he’s dead!

He is dead, anyway, If he slips, if he sways...
But he’s inching ahead, he has less time to play
With death - some three fourths of the way.

"Oh, how awful, how daring, how lovely!
Fighting death - must be all an illusion!"
The slack silly mouths gaping wide,
From the stalls they looked up at him glumly -
Lilliputians, Lilliputians
They all seemed to him from the height.

Look, he’s walking without
Any belt, any net.
If he leans too far out -
He’s a goner, he’s dead!

He is dead, anyway, If he slips, if he sways...
Silence, everyone! All this man now has to play
With death is two fourths of the way.

He would mock at all fame and renown.
But he would be the first ever -
And anything less could be damned!
Not a tightrope he danced on now,
It was our nerves - in a fever -
To the rolling of the drum!

Look, he’s walking without
Any belt, any net.
If he leans too far out -
He’s a goner, he’s dead!

He is dead, anyway, If he slips, if he sways...
But - be quiet! He has but a short time to play
With death - just a fourth of the way.

The trainer cried out, and the horses
Stood quite still - they understood us.
And the sentence was simple and crude:
Lost his nerve - that’s the worst of all losses.
In the sawdust, in the sawdust
He spilled his resentment and blood.

Now another walks without
Any belt, any net.
If he leans too far out -
He’s a goner, he’s dead!

He is dead, anyway, If he slips, if he sways...
But there’s also something that drives him to play
With death all four fourths of the way.