Eventually when the season changes, the piers close and the crowd disappear You realise the tattoo of love was just a transfer that washes off with tears Like all the great mirages, it's gone before you've blinked The promenade palm trees are plastic, the amusements are a cardboard movie set The drop of death doesn't mean you must be dying, nobody dies It's a kalеidoscope daydream, the wholе thing "Come in! Lose yourself in its penny arcades!" The mystery house is the hall of illusion It is summer and the promenade is blooming The golden age has just begun, soon it will be gone