
Sprung from a cage
lying on the side of the road
blood dripping from a mouth
sceptics picking bones
envious souls circle up above, screaming.
Its wild out here
now we know
we were born to die
we were born to dream.
Coins in a wishing-well glimmer
insects scatter from rubber soles in the garish glow of night
out of reach
in reach.
Like being in love with a dying man
now we know
we were born to die
we were born to dream.
A crashing symbol.
A piano key.
A house of cards.
A swagger in the wind.
A dancer on the high.
That which lies between friend and lover
between fast and slow
between young and old.
Dinner on the table
crashing to the floor.
Now we know
we were born to die
we were born to dream.
They are snowballs
they are ignitions.
The beat of a dream
a coin in a well
a deck of cars
a broken glass
a fox lying, dead, on the shoulder.
We were born to dream
and it’s wild out here.
The score with no scoreboard
the pot of gold with no rainbow
no rainbow leading to it
always loosing
always refusing.
A wall that you built
a room you made lonely
a lantern flickering in the bar
dark shadows and tears
lies and more
a thorny, brutal affair.
Now we know
we were born to die
we were born to dream.