Narcolepsy's a funny thing
A disease but sometimes a cure.
For only when I'm in my dreams
Do I ever get to see her.

It warms my heart to know
That though WE could never be,
You'll keep staring up at the stars
On this lonely planet, with me.

To the only one I wrote songs for,
And still do to this day.
To the only one I wrote poetry for,
On whom I fix my poetic gaze.
To the only one who watched the stars,
With my arm in your embrace.
To the only one I've ever really wanted;
The only one I've ever chased.
This one goes out to the one...

Oh freddled gruntbuggly,
Thy micturations are to me
As plurdled gabbleblotchits on a lurgid bee.
Groop, I implore thee, my foonting turlingdromes,
And hooptiously drangle me with crinkly bindlewurdles,
Or I will rend thee in the gobberwarts
With my blurglecruncheon, see if I don't!

All he was saying was give peace a chance
But that was a lofty dream.
John Lennon died defending a cause;
He didn't let out a scream.

He didn't need to kick and cry
Or send his armies to attack.
He took the hate and felt the pain
But without a tear in his eye.

In the midst of the violent crime that day
Peace was the only winner.
God was there with John at that place
Taking some burden from us sinners.

Many have come in the name of peace,
As prophets of God's desire,
And we will never see the truth
Because everyone else is a liar.

Don't force a rhyme;
Its better to let it flow.
Don't poison the passion
With false seeds you sow.
Don't become a poet
To take advantage of frail souls.
Don't spread your foul heartbreak
For whom the bell tolls.

The boy was fourteen,
What did you expect?
His thoughts in the clouds
But mainly on ***.

When life seemed to be
Falling apart at the hinge,
He grasped for some direction
If just to feel the fringe

Of a way that would set him free.
Free from the fallacy he knew.
His friends all a lie,
Not a one he called true.

As if by divine intervention
A passage shown through.
He found a place called Walden Pond;
Ralph & Walt there too.

"O' Captian, my Captain
My life to you I truly owe.
For mine was but defined by the world
Til my sense of self, you bestowed."

The boy was of himself;
The world left not a trace.
He was ready to learn of poets and scholars,
But then he saw her face.