Clown butter flies,

and hearts that hate listeners wait for answers.
I dream to fly. I study. I learn.
You might imagine this is your life path,
but the roads which make up our minds
are wrapped up in ancient luxury--objects,
photographs of objects created by the artist.
I never finish, and no paint blobs fill the sky.
Clown butter flies home.
I dream to dance, to dance, to dance.