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where you could fly? Afterwards waking up with a delightful sigh Was that dream real to you? Real enough to attempt to follow it through? Whether flapping your arms with paper wings attached, Or jumping out of a tree, following the exemple of little birds that just hatched? When we were children we believed things so easily, It didn't matter if we could or could not see, We trusted what we were told, But we began to wonder as we grew old, Demanding proof, disbelieving, we began to regect what we knew, It was almost as if something was pushing us to But, Why? Why? Why did we let our dreams die?
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