by Steve Marsden
I want to feast on a bowlful of stars
And bathe in the heavenly mist of inspiration, I want to avoid the backwash of death and ride its wave instead, Can it be done?
I want to know the edge of life so far,
And skate above the frozen lake of perspiration, I want to change all the things I see to what I see in my head, I know it can't be done.
I want to turn villages into towns,
And paint brick walls until they're like huge stained glass windows, I want to stoke the furnace of all lives with possibility, How can it be done?
I want to dress paupers in royal gowns,
And unlock the golden gates that stay shut when the wind blows, I want to redirect blame to those with responsibility, Will it be done?