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...