One day Bob woke up and saw Reality right there
Reality had a name, Reality was called Despair
Reality had a face, she was putting on her make-up
The face was called Lucy, his wife, his partner
Reality, it had a sound, reality was called Television
Or sometimes Radio, or sometimes plain submission
Reality was a hole of darkness into which he plunged
Images, adverts, slogans, Reality must be expunged!
He simply put on his clothes, and walked right out the door
Dreaming of all the places that he’d never been before
Like a modern day Saint Francis, roaming free and poor
And so he roamed up and down the pathways and the lanes
Reality was no longer torment, just the memory of a pain
He heard birdsong, saw flowers and he knew that he was sane.
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