butterfly resting on a redwood branch
paper crane flying from a mushroom cloud
little boy sitting on the edge of a cliff
mother standing watch, full of peace, feeling proud,

she said,

he's a rock, he's a boulder, he's a pebble, he's a stone
he's a tree, he's a root, he's a seed ungrown
he's a mountain, he's a hill, he's a vally, he's a stream
he's a river, he's an ocean, he's real, he's a dream

midnight and he's walking down a narrow dirt road
feet tired, shoes torn, clothes ripped, hands cold
heart bleeding, head pounding, little boy's grown old
whispers to himself what he'd been told

i'm a rock, i'm a boulder, i'm a pebble, i'm a stone
i'm a tree, i'm a root, i'm a seed ungrown
i'm a mountain, i'm a hill, i'm a vally, i'm a stream
i'm a river, i'm an ocean, i'm real, i'm a dream

he walks with a child by his side
cried when he remembered his mother's pride
he said, son this life's a hell of a ride
and he told him her words as they walked inside

you're a rock, you're a boulder, you're a pebble, you're a stone
you're a tree, you're a root, you're a seed ungrown
you're a mountain, you're a hill, you're a valley, you're a stream
you're a river, you're an ocean, you're real, you're a dream