The chiming, whining turn of the carousel.
The horses, their colorful faces lifeless and enslaved against their will.
To forever turn under repetitive pressure, and a ringleader cracks his whip,
And the uncontrollable movement began. My stomach sick, we moved. Loud and chiming.
Vertigo from five feet up. What sweet smell of cinnamon
Was once pervasive, is now cold sweat and fear.
And the carousel turned.
