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Description
The field of nonsense, is full of just that,
Pretty things, not sensible at all.
Yet, we go there anyway.
To go there is like your soul has been taken
Away to a field of joy, not nonsense.
For the grass is always green and lush.
The trees on the hem are just as much.
The flowers glow in the mid-day sun,
Bright yellows, whites, reds and blues,
Purples, pinks and oranges too!
Everything whispers in the wind,
That tosses you back to reality.
For there is no place for man
In a field of joy
Because it knows everything man touches
He destroys.

Description
The field of nonsense, is full of just that,
Pretty things, not sensible at all.
Yet, we go there anyway.
To go there is like your soul has been taken
Away to a field of joy, not nonsense.
For the grass is always green and lush.
The trees on the hem are just as much.
The flowers glow in the mid-day sun,
Bright yellows, whites, reds and blues,
Purples, pinks and oranges too!
Everything whispers in the wind,
That tosses you back to reality.
For there is no place for man
In a field of joy
Because it knows everything man touches
He destroys.