talking of pulsing paragraphs
hawking the latest cultural fad
mistaking the gifts they once had
for a theory or hidden meaning
the wind carried the words to finger tips
the thoughts that came from their lips
they threw their tantrums and their fits
so others would find them beaming
in the end, we'll all be dust and ash
the poems will fade, the songs get trashed
under the rainbow, our hopes are dashed
don't you know we're all just dreaming
