When someone asks about your dreams
You never think about extremes
You want that husband/wife and house
At least a flat and faithful spouse
You want two kids, or maybe three
To raise them, watch them, set them free
You’ve wanted this for many years
You’ve wished for it with many tears
And you’re aware it’s not all great
But gladly you’d accept your fate
There is a risk of harmful lies
Of broken dreams and STIs
Of empty rooms and empty words
The emptiness, it always hurts
When someone asks about your dreams
They’re far away, or so it seems