It starts at childhood;
Every thought, every trance,
Every imaginary character that you make up
Can stick to you and eternally dance.
All you have to do is take their hand
And squeeze it tight,
Because sometimes nobody else will
As you sleep at night.
The imagination is a powerful thing;
With thoughts so wide and long
It simply becomes a reality.
Fortunately, if you forget the song
The other side will not,
And will hum and laugh and smile;
Taking your hands and spinning quick,
Forcing you out of your self imposed exile.
Age forces change;
As maturity catches up, many lose grip,
And feel lost in the world as it goes dim
As imagination and reality just trip,
Imagination is something that should stick
But you get forced to "grow up"
Which will do nothing but make you sick.
People will force you to change;
To become something new
And away from the old,
Though while all you did was grew
With those same friends as you had before.
They grew with you and they smile,
Taking your hand