The people on this side
Are people who see,
Who live, and accept
Only things that can be.
The clouds are mere clouds.
The sun just feels good.
The moon is a night light.
It's not for our mood.
The rain wets the ground,
Helps the weeds and all grow.
They cut down the flowers,
Who needs all that show?
Go through that blue gate
And people are strange.
They see things in clouds,
And things in their brains.
They write rhyming words,
And paint scenes that aren't real.
They dance in the morning,
And ring bells so they peal.
They gaze at the moon,
And love what they see.
They send poems to each other
About things that can't be.
We all have a choice
On where we will live.
This side or that side,
Is it take or more give?
Do we want our world
To be reality's cold
Or the Alchemist's dream
That turns lead into gold?