You gave me a piece of paper,
And told me to write a poem
so I bent, broke, twisted the harmless thing
Used the ink as glue
And made us paper wings
You whispered, "let's go"
Standing on the edge of the world
then we jumped
hanging by a contraption
of the figments of my imagination.
We were flying so high
We said we'd never come down
Just as the sun burned away the paper.
One precious moment of paradox
It's a pity we remembered to die
before we came crashing to the ground.
The sensation would've been something