There is mud on my shoes,
The weather has never been more beautiful.
A small half an hour stolen out,
From days striving for tomorrow.
And a voice tells me, there is joy ahead.
Stupid me, hears success.
A bunch of giddy children are running around,
Such abstract fun!
A small rubber ball, an object of desire.
I hear a voice speaking, it's not your fault.
Stupid me, couldn't imagine.
I have the ball now, an old friend.
A breathless, pumping abandon all around.
Muddy shoes front and behind, closing in.
And there I see heartbreak, tears welling up helplessly.
Stupid me, could only see the pain.
I fumble a bit but no time to think,
The other shoes are far behind now.
There are clouds, and there is wind,
Not yet there, but almost.
And I hear music, flowing through space and time.
Even if painful, even so beautiful.
You know how when you say "fuck it!"?
Where thoughts are shot, and you only see?
And the ball rolling past everyone, everything.
Simplest, biggest pleasure for a child.
And the voice says, there would be strength,
Could never figure it out then.
I never had an easier time laughing, as that day.
Running into open arms, into shrieks of simple joys.
That night I dreamt about flying, perfectly.
And it wasn't about the speed, or skill.
It was about the funny ignorance, the mischievous forgetfulness.
About sticking your tongue out, at the earth lunging at you.
The voice told me, the eternal funny times,
Deep inside your head, can paint the world.
High up there, it said, the wind makes you laugh at viciousness.
You'll see, up there, that tragedies and bliss,
Loves and sorrows, success and failures;
They are all only stories.
The voice told me simply, to play.
Play Child, it said, play!