Monday, July 13, 2020

SMOKE IN THE WIND



It was a bill of goods he bought
And I the merchant who sold the dream;
A price too high is what he paid
For merchandise never received.

Grab a rainbow, touch a star,
The world is yours for just the reach;
Anything you wish to be,
Can be yours, don't fail to dream.

Puffs of smoke in fancy paper,
Goods not worth the life of pain;
Son, anything you dare to dream,
Can be yours; the price, your soul.



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