August 11, 2012
Painting streaks across golden streets
Running and pounding on debased leaves
Crumbles, crumbles like our tiny dreams
They never wanted us, or needed me

Mother, mother shouts to believe
To step outside, to feel at ease
But why can’t we? – we have no means

And the stars are gone
And the clouds are flat
My outlook starves of happiness

So we escape the clutches
Try for ourselves
Scared and cold and all alone

They all say it’s nice
Not so queer
Dreams, desires, they are so near!

And in times we fall
And we carry on
But the times are loose and so is my grip
The grip I had of hope, oh so quick
So I spiral down to whence I came
Mother, she asks me, can I go out and play?

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