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Dreams
There’s a butcher in my town
And he’s a little sad today
That there are problems in this world
That you can’t pray away
And his wife she’s a painter
Yeah the real artistic type
With frames of the starving
That cause all kinds of strife
The government tries to help
Or at least that’s what they say
Branding us with numbers
To describe our personality
And the Priests tell us differently
The ways to live our lives
But who can say what’s happy
Or distinguish faith from lies
Happiness is subjective
Don’t force it upon others
But seek it fervently
And love all others
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