There was a time when the mystery of life held me captive,
And tomorrows were trusted to sort themselves out.
A shooting star was entertainment,
And the dream of what I’d be changed from day to day.
And it wasn’t bad,
It was good,
Childhood.
And perhaps I can go back.
Perhaps I can let go a little more to the mystery,
And let my dreams and entertainment be swayed
By the unexpected.
And maybe that’s not bad.
It might just be good
If I let it.
