"Small dreams", some people call them.
But they did not feel small,
The day we chose the pictures
That hang along that wall,
The day we bought this furniture,
These fixtures, and that shelf;
So much that now surrounds me, like
Extensions of myself
We put out for the world to see,
And if they liked, to choose:
We knew, of course, the risks,
The things that we now stood to lose --
But money wasn't our real goal,
Believing profits come
From doing what you love, which now
Seems naive, or -- just dumb
Within this empty place, that once
Was bursting at the seams --
Where all that's left's to lock the door
On all of my
Small dreams
