An Age of Charmed Dreamers

‘Blessed I was to be young in an age of charmed dreamers.’ Childhood in suburbia wanting for nothing; Kickball and flashlight tag ‘til dinner was set; Be home by the time the neighborhood’s lit. Painting the sky with the glow in our eyes no worries we were just free to be kids; Talking we always wished that we were older; What would be able to do? Whatever we imagined we could do. Rock, paper, scissors all ended with a killer idea; Started from different sides but always met in the middle; No one’s tools or process was better than another, that was the magic of such innocent times. Staying gold until the sun set. Creating with fire; Streetlight imaginations burn just like the stars.