Sometimes I see a little boy,
In a blue and yellow striped shirt,
In the corner of my eye.
He told me he is a lost spirit,
And that I was to adopt him.
The boy did not remember his name,
He only knew that he was four.
So I tried to call him timothy.
He gave me a headache,
He does not like the name Timothy,
He prefers Collin.
Sometimes he is in my dreams,
And he asks me to sing to him.
He cries when I sing church songs.
And he cries when I smoke or light a candle.
I think he died in a church.
I think he died in a fire.
Poor Collin.
Sometimes he just watches me.
And he sings a little song.
"The wind moves the tree.
And I move too.
But what moves me?
That is up to you."
Poor Collin.