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I walked along route 58
There was Mumbai dreams and Harbor Freight
A hippie guy sold sunglasses from a stall
One had a rosy tint, I paid 5 dollars, that was all.
There was a warning label with it, I threw it away
Who needs all the fine print, what could it possibly say?

I looked at the traffic, it was stop and go
I slipped into a side street, out of the flow
The noise of cars faded, as I walked up the hill
Then I saw a big house, I remember it still.

It was painted pale blue, the windows had white trim
Carved railings outside, bright lights within
There were children on the swing, and birds in the air
Their Grandma on the porch rocking on a chair
The lilacs were purple, the flowers dark red
A pony was grazing beside the garden shed.

I walked through nearby woods, got home very late.
That night I told my brothers about this path off 58:
I said, "you got to come; on me you can depend."
Next day they came with me, past the sign that said, "dead end."

I left my glasses home that day, they had a hippie vibe
The shape was like John Lennon's, not my brother's tribe.
My brothers are right wing, and I didn't want them to rebel, 
To get them off the beaten track is always a hard sell.

The house was there alright, but the grass was wild and high
Boards were cracked, windows broken, I had to rub my eye.
I sheepishly looked back, they joked, I felt the sting.
Then I waded through the grass, found a broken swing.

I've worn my glasses since, my reality was augmented
Everything looked better, it made me seem demented
I became a radical and shouted world peace couldn't wait.
I marched for no more police, and an end to the state.
Everything looked so rosy, all we had to do was try
My brothers couldn't take it, couldn't understand why.

Many years later, I dropped the glasses in some grass
A football player ran over them trying to catch a pass
The rosy hue was gone, and I finally understood
Too much glamorizing detracts from what is good.
So now I wear bifocals, read the fine print in every dream
We must focus on what is, not on what might have been.
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