Being imaginative is hard, but worth it, and people need to change their ways to enjoy little things like make-believe.
They’ve told me a picture’s worth a thousand words, so let me paint you one.
When I was young, we imagined things and weren’t called crazy,
we were the last children in the woods,
taking pennies for thoughts
and waiting for the monsters to come
with bated breath.
We were adventurers in the jungle,
hunting the fairies,
preparing ourselves for a princess to rescue…
a princess from a castle in the air.
Because other people thought that it weird
to live like you’ve never lived before,
yeah, some of us started dropping like flies
but because of their ending in smoke
we faced our demons,
dirtied our hands,
and remembered that faint hearts never won the fair ladies.
Our quest was our labor of love,
and we had to keep the glimmer of hope in our sights,
cus let’s face it:
it’s a fact of life that there’s a jungle outside your door
and we were playing with forest fires,
not because we were told to,
but because it was fun.
People teased us in those days,
and even when we were on top of the world,
the fairies were a topic all hush-hush,
cus we knew that the lesser of two evils
was having an unwritten story in our head
not the green eyed monster of those who didn’t understand us.