The young boy who wants to be a doctor
Sits alone in his room imagining.
Just imagining.

How his life will be when he's a doctor!
The miracles he'll perform, the people he'll save, and
Most of all
The wondrous things he'll discover.

Surely he'll be hailed as a hero.
And he will know in his heart that he is no hero; he was
Always going to be a doctor. No other life would suit.
But he will let them hail him.
Not for him, no. For them.
People are better when they've a hero to beleive in.

Then, as quickly as he arrived,
He'll fly off in his spaceship. Never to return.
Another mission complete.

Until one day, the doctor
Dies.

The boy still sits alone in his room.
He does not imagine. He sits and thinks.
Just thinks.

Thinks about a plan for the future.
A plan for the future.
A plan.

He sleeps at night, but does not dream.
The pictures in his head replaced by the
Bitter chill of words, and the sharpness
Of reality.

He has killed the doctor. No
More imagining.

This is called growing up.