The dog’s running off,
while the rest of us laugh,
giving a gentle guffaw.

Can we believe
the way people dream
carelessly floating along?

The sky’s falling down,
but all through the town
everyone insists it’s wrong.

Isn’t it queer
how all becomes clear
after the curtains are drawn?

The sun's going dark,
as we play in the park,
even though our spirits are gone.

Isn’t it strange,
the way people change
before they finally withdraw?