But Not To Dream

when we got to california, what did we find?

when we got to california, where could we go from there?

we followed our dreams

from the dead heart

of a rotting nation

through toil and sacrifice

we left our homes

and severed our bonds

we dropped every penny

on a losing venture

we gambled and lost our way

dizzy and cheapened

we walked like kings

and when we found those promised shores

we stooped, and begged

just to survive

and the price of that wager was our lives

we followed our dreams

from the dead heart

of a rotting nation

all the way to the golden gates,

we followed our dreams westward

to the sea

where our dreams

dashed upon the rocks

and like a weight

set around our necks

we followed over the edge

the wreckage of our dreams made manifest

washed up in the tide pools

and the rooks and vermin

clutch at what became of us

and grow fat off our misfortune

when they mention icarus

aiming for the sun

they never flesh out

the fear and panic,

the rot and waste

that icarus left on this world

when he found the sea

so, the wages of daring

is ruin;

the price of a king's step

is found

in the splintered heap we become

when we got to california, what did we find?

when we got to california, where could we go from there?

and long after picked clean

what fragments and trinkets

that collect in the tide pools and surf

will be little more than a half-memorable

offering from the sea;

a caution that resonates

in some idiot sub-speck of brain,

the instinct to toil

but not to dream