a show to behold

Until it stops feeling natural.
Turn of the century, old magician, a pale mistress.
A show being held at the great Apostles theatre 
Gathering crowds and clapping hands
All waitin for the great magician; Jon the Man 
Now his mother never called him Jon the Man 
Neither did the dead father. 
If birth certificate were to exist,
He would be Jonathan McKellan
Of irish descent.
Blinding lights guided
The lost dogs to center stage
Blinded eyes were
The fillers of the front row seats.
Ladies, madams and gentlmen,
Make a round
For Jon
Not any Jon was he 
Not any Jon was he 
Our ol’ man 
For us Jonathan
Became Jon the Man,
But even fires could consume
The Man and his pugs
For once upon a time 
There was a ring of fire
At a show being held at the great Apostlestheatre  
Gathering frowns and screaming throats
All watching the dead magician; Jon the Man.
Now his mother never called him Jon the Man
Neither had the chance to once again call him
Jonathan.

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