Psycroptic

There's a town somewhere inside someone's dreams
A place where nothing is as it seems
There's no record of it in any book
For those who go (there) never return
In this place, there's a fairground run by clowns,
Controls the town
Don't try to run– the clowns will come
Many people pass through here as they chase their destiny
They will stop and never want for things of life again
The fairground it costs no-one, blindly inside they are drawn
People driven by a call
Come, come inside, come inside, come inside, come
Like moths that are drawn to flame
These people enter the grounds of pain
From outside they see such fun
If they knew how would they run
What they see (is) illusion, blinded by this desire
They wish to laugh and scream
Welcome to the Carnival of Vulgarity