I live in worlds of fantasy,
But people won’t just let me be.
It’s not as if I damage things,
Or try to fly without my wings.
I only told them of my dreams:
How every day’s not as it seems.
I told them of my friend, the snail,
That only made them quake and pale.
I showed them all the things I’d made:
The Trotterdam and Quisky-Plaid.
I told them I’d been slobbered on,
But by the very lovely one,
That is to say the voice I’d heard,
When whispered by a little bird.
But the man that wore the coat
Thought it best that I not gloat.
I don’t know why he told me that,
Or took me from my little flat,
I don’t know why they took my view,
I’m just as sane as all of you.