Weighted down with heavy fruits, the loves we carry,
I am at last to be such a barren tree,
arms outstretched to catch the wind
And snap off a few extra branches,
let’s make you a home
with big windows.
I am the man selling balloons, the dreams which possess us,
finally to quit and find a desk job,
to laugh in piles of money
and have less time
And I’ll hear you in the cubicle next to me
but I won’t peek over the top.
Buy my last balloon and short the city,
pick my fruit up off the ground and feed the world,
if you can, be a better savior
knowing I’m the selfish one,
but happiness costs too much.