by Long John

We take words from our favourite songs
to our hearts—
hoping they’ll make us free,
free from the pain in our hearts,
our lives.

None but ourselves can free our minds
from the destruction and pain of this life.
“Don’t criticise what you can’t understand,” they say.
The grass is always greener
on the other side.

But not understanding—
is that not reason enough to criticise?
The story of our lives
is quicker than the wink of an eye,
just like a story of love—
a hello and goodbye,
or until we meet again.

The day friends become lovers,
the friendship ends.
Then we sigh:
the other man’s grass is always greener,
and how softly the rain falls
in the next meadow.

You imagine all the people
believe in your songs.
You may say that I’m a dreamer—
but I’m not the only one.
Let it be, I say.
Let it be.

I’ve had enough
of your blurry words
in lines of songs.

I’d trade all my tomorrows
for just one single day of peace.
Imagine all the world’s people
living life in peace—
singing just one song.

Imagine.
Imagine.