I didn’t come here to dance, but I need you to play me something beautiful.
Terminal weight is a facade in my progress, nothing holds me down more than make believe realities.
But they are real, real enough to make changes in movement, changes in happiness.
I didn’t come here to sing, but I need to hear something beautiful.
Monsters scare me in new directions, spiritual disease keeps me from flying.
But they aren’t real, not real enough to keep me from guessing.
I didn’t come here to imagine things, but I need you to be creative.
A standing fall grips me by the stem, shakes the moisture from my breath.
But this is real, real enough to damage me.
I didn’t come here to quit, but we may need to stop soon.
