A little boy once watched Superman, and he told his momma he wanted to be just like him when he grew up.
He got a cape,
a suit,
a nice super hero name-
y'know... the whole shabang.
But when he tried to fly,
he couldn't.
He'd jump and he'd jump,
trying to get his feet higher from the ground than just a few inches,
higher than just a foot.
He tried to fly,
day after day he tried to fly.
And he tried,
and he
tried,
and he
tried.
He tried so much and so often on so many days that the little boys across the street called him a
Loser.
They told him to
get his head out of the clouds.
They told him
he ain't ever gonna fly.
He ain't ever gonna save the day
or
be a superhero
or
go to another planet.
Now...
By this time,
the little boy with the cape,
the suit,
the nice super hero name,
and the whole shabang...
He was trying to do something else.
So he turned to the other boys calling him a
Loser,
and he told them that
he ain't got his head in the clouds, but rather that he wanted to be like the clouds-
free and gazed upon whenever he drifted by.
He told them that
he wasn't trying to fly.
He was trying to get up to heaven to see if it was good enough for his momma.
He told them that
he didn't need to save the day, as long as he could save those he cared about most.
He told them that
he could be a super hero, and that his papa had been, and had lost his life to a bullet.
He told them that
he didn't need to go to another planet,
because this one was enough for him, and always would be.