I can explain, no, not really
I keep having these dreams,
You had those fake cigarettes once,
Your eyes were reflecting off of something,
In my dreams you were not in your element,
No you wouldn’t be happy with me,
I couldn’t put wings on you and fly you in the sea,
Nature I cannot defy.
No matter how hard you try,
Send it far and high,
I’ll box up everything I am,
Send it far and high.
It was over before it ever even began,
And even I the fool who goes,
Wherever poetry and romantic letters may take me,
I know this.
Often now, in these summer days,
Often now I have these dreams that I will one day write stories about.
Stories of you,
Stories of me.
Stories are cheap.