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.
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