Reaching the Clouds

Isn't it funny
How we push away things
That bug us or annoy us,
that we can't be bothered with

Its like we want to be free
Living in the fast lane
Swinging with no attachments
Swinging life away

But that is impossible
Unless your mind happens
to live on a tropic island
and you rock back and forth in a corner
muttering to yourself

No complications
No hardships
No rude awakenings
No rules

Well thanks for the notion
That we could get by like that
But I doubt that we'd survive long
And I think I'll wait until heaven for that

Because without all of that
I'd be a wimpy person
With the mind of a four year old
Who doesn't want to learn, who wants never to grow up

But then how could we find things?
Friends would be disposable, not close like brothers
Everything would be a play thing that wouldn't matter if its broken
And then, what is love?

So I'll keep the chains on my swing, thanks all the same.