In a strange window of time
In the snowglobes
And witch hunts
My eyes began to itch
at the sight of a rebellion.
The silence pierced our ears
As the idiots took their places.
Come, show us your stuff,
and we'll just laugh.
Take your pens
And write them a story
I'm sure they'll critique.
With this medicine,
who knows what you'll find.
And she even cried
at the sound of our story.
And someday with you in your office,
and me teaching notes,
maybe we'll think of each other
at the same time.
And how it could have been.
Can't you see i'm not bad?
Smell the roses and see
that every thorn has a purpose.
Eventually after crawling
all the way up the stem,
something beautiful is always at the top.