They called him Peter Pan

never wanted to grow up to become a man.

Hard and strong, like his fathers fist.

Together we were to escape the scary realities

of an alcoholic father and a long gone wife.

We would hide in the tree

Inhailing and exhailing illegal weed.

We would dream sweet dreams 

of mermaids and far away seas.

only to imagine.

Then we'd get hooked on the realities of

Peter Pan and me

Hiding from reality.

He loved to meet new friends

Whether they be laying on the streets or dead in a grave

We would hang out all together

inhaling and exhailing

we would fly higher and higher.

Everynight,

he'd tap on my window pane

sneak down to our place.

The stars would blink through the branches of the trees

And we'd lay there, flying through

the stars away from the awful reality of

Peter Pan and me.