So large, so small, our minds can perceive it all.
Sometimes we're aware, sometimes we can't compare,
often it seems not fair, often I wonder nowhere.
A common strife, an uncommon life.
So gay, and so pale, I pass and I fail.
Beyond the paradox and before the idea.
The more we open the box, the more we are freer.
It's just that easy, and just that hard.
A clear glass window, its dangerous blue shard.
When it's cold, I'd like to die,
when it's cold, I like to cry,
when it's cold, I still fry
as if it were a hot summer day.
I miss the time when times were gay
and all I did was play that simple instinctual way.
I don't want to pay
for all the lost time I've given up,
for all the times I told someone shut up,
for all the times I was a cut-up,
for all the times I had to put up
with my own identity, with what I actually did see,
with what it actually meant to me,
when it didn't ever occur to me
that I had imposed all of these crimes,
and imposed all of these fines
that I attributed like signs of the times.
Back in the day when all I did was play
and my mind was free to stray.
Back when life was gay.
October 26, 1997