Rose-Tinted Binoculars | Steve Denehan
A time ago, when I would run, the grass would barely bend,
The laws of physics and myself were not considered friends.
I would fly along at such a pace my shadow would surrender,
Before a letter was even sent I could return to sender.
I could jump from any crazy height and land without a mark,
I could tumble down most any hill, make a fire from a spark.
My hands would very rarely rest upon my handlebars,
The road was but a playground for weaving through the cars.
From our secret lair we could watch the world and never once be seen.
If dirt was steel, I was a magnet with not an inch left clean.
Ghost stories made the short walk home last a thousand years,
A multitude of hidden things to fertilise my fears.
I made a fairly decent dent into the sugar mountain,
And quenched my never-ending thirst with a sticky fizzy fountain.
Trees were climbed and blood was spilled and bees were caught in jars,
And our hearts came tumbling from our mouths as we lay and watched the stars.
