Bless the Dreamers
On a Coney Island afternoon,
a wide-eyed child
pours dreams into a plastic yellow pail.
As she tamps them out, her visions soon
are gently styled
into a castle gold of fairytales.
With two tiny hands against the tide
she'll realize
that castles melt when sea and sand collide.
By a burst balloon,
on a Coney Island afternoon,
a little dreamer cries
In a frayed housecoat by the window glass
a weathered face
stares back at Lincoln High's homecoming queen.
On the street behind pretty schoolgirls pass
and pictures race
inside her mind of how things might have been.
Someone's looking for a missing shoe,
the baby cries,
the landlord calls - the rent is overdue.
As the falling rain
streaks the lined face on the window pane,
the 'girl most likely' sighs.
Tracing Moses through the wilderness
to a land where milk and honey flows.
Knowing well the pain and bitterness
struggling toward a dream you'll never know.
In a midwest town that time forgot
a farmer stands
by while his dream's lost to the highest bid.
As what sweat of generations bought
slips through his hands
the cloud drowning his soul his proud eyes hid.
Through his wife's soft cries and a vulture's scream
he hears the lies
of a beckoning American Dream.
On a dustblown lot,
in a midwest town that time forgot,
a wounded spirit dies.
