The Hopeful Idiot

Down at the travelling carnival,
amidst the sunflower fields,
I met a hopeful idiot
who said life was like
a flying kite, soaring high up
in the sky. But he ain't
never seen a kite before,
because kites are for
children, and a child,
he is not. He shrugged as
he tucked the cigar in the
left corner of this mouth,
then he told me all about it,
how he heard the animals whisper,
how it took them a while to open up,
how they promised to show him
how to make a god damn kite.

And there was fire in his eyes,
the kind of fire that doesn't go out,
the kind of fire that burns until
the only thing left burning
is yourself, and the stuffed
lion through the ring.
He puffed on his cigar,
slowly taking it all in.
It was meant to be his very last one,
the last one before he sees a kite.
Tonight, he's making himself a kite.

But tonight's the night
they replace him with the lion. They're
letting him burn through the ring of fire.
That's what the whispers were all about.
And he still doesn't get it. He still thinks
life is like a flying kite, that fire doesn't
burn, that fire doesn't hurt. And it doesn't.
Not really. He's only aching for the kite
he never got to see.

Except he did,
he did see it,
for what I failed to tell him
when I first met him,
down at the travelling carnival,
amidst the sunflower fields,
was that he was
the hopeful idiot, and I
was his god damn kite.