As kings dream of butterflies
and butterflies of kings
while flapping their fingers
or extending their wings
their dreaming lives go on
with all these fading things
The truth and the fiction
are converged in the dream
the heat of the friction
propelling with steam
As fading and waking
can each bring an aching
As time is all-taking
the dream's in its making
The kings spread their wings
and the moth wears its crown
the archangel sings
and heaven comes down
Kings of the air
and wings on a throne
these dreams that they wear
are the truths they'll have known
though it hardly seems fair
when all dreams rest alone
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