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The worries of some
Are mere dreams to others
So distant, so irrelevant
And so, this makes them ignorant?

So strange, to worry about
Appearances: the reflection seen
On the glass slab of self esteem and

Stranger yet, is the concern of
The appearances of others. Shallow, too.
The spare thought space that

Once was filled with dreams of
lemon rivers and
strawberry waterfalls

Now crammed with petty problems
of textbooks and paperwork
And how much you know
What better way to boost your ego

Once the bed of a lemon river
Now the graveyard of imagination

And last, ah, sweet envy
Of the one who stands above others
But what for?
A life that's ruled by paper
Rather than pen?

And so, I worry still
about the pen, and the paper,
And all things insignificant.
But when Gods knocks on the door
Or when Satan calls
I'll still be dreaming of lemon rivers and strawberry waterfalls
I looked in to the empty eyes
Of father as he softly sighs
Just a child, just six years old
Old enough to see his broken soul
Today depression, it is named
When dreams are broken, the mind is stained
That night I asked if he ever prayed
He told me "no", his mind was made
But father never told me men don't cry
When he looked sad, and I asked why
So if you won't cry and you won't pray
Then dream daddy, dream away

— The End —