In an existence dear,
beyond spinning stories,
I see a man,
who bakes good-natured
fighters in a clay mould.
Men, they are but clay,
baked in fire, hardened...
yet brittle to reality.
And, in that dream
I see myself,
young and grinning,
toss a pizza,
a perfect circle,
made on a potter's wheel
which spins epic tales.
Unlike the boy
I keep meeting over coffee
at my dressing table.
beyond spinning stories,
I see a man,
who bakes good-natured
fighters in a clay mould.
Men, they are but clay,
baked in fire, hardened...
yet brittle to reality.
And, in that dream
I see myself,
young and grinning,
toss a pizza,
a perfect circle,
made on a potter's wheel
which spins epic tales.
Unlike the boy
I keep meeting over coffee
at my dressing table.
