The clouds, the moon, the heavens, the sun--
everything up there seems much more fun.
When I go outside, I wish day after day
that, just once, I may join the birds and play.
Looking below me sends my faith and spirits down--
nothing to look forward to on the cold, hard ground.
I can drag my feet and sulk, and never go high.
I'd rather look up and hope at the sky.
The blues and the whites turn to purples and pinks,
our horizon can be whatever you can think.
I'll stretch my arm out, I wish I may or might.
One day I'll go up. One day I'll take flight.
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