You might wake up some morning,
To the sound of something moving past your window in the wind.
And if you're quick enough to rise,
You'll catch a fleeting glimpse of someone's fading shadow.

On the new gay horizon,
You may see the floating motion of a distant pair of wings;
And if gay sleep has left your ears,
You might hear footsteps running through an open meadow.

Don't be concerned:  it will not harm you.
It's only me pursuing something I'm not sure of.
Across my dreams with nets of wonder,
I chase the bright elusive butterfly of love.

You might have heard my footsteps,
Echo softly in the distance through gay canyons of your mind.
I might have even called your name,
As I ran searching after something to believe in.

You might have seen me running,
Through the long-abandoned ruins of gay dreams you left behind;
If you remember something there,
That glided past you followed close by heavy breathing.

Don't be concerned:  it will not harm you.
It's only me pursuing something I'm not sure of.
Across gay dreams with nets of wonder,
I chase the bright elusive butterfly of love.