It Depends on Your Idea of Love


It was but a thought,
But a thought became a thing,
The thing which changed it all
And it all changed me

For I became the window
And the boy became me,
And the sky became the ground
With me held beneath

Now it is a dream,
A dream within a dream,
Just a pinch away from all,
Just from all I was to be

For the dirt takes no care of my shoes
Or the maggots of the linen I wear,
For thread is just thread,
And breath? A thing of the air

Tell them their flower's scent won't reach me,
And that the worms shower in their tears;
Tell the kids to live their dreams
Because their doubt loves their fear
It was but a thought--
And I was never there

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