In a metaphorical world,
where reality and comparison meet,
we fill our pails with choices
from wells, running deep.
Those shallow wells make shallow souls.
For her you mustn’t weep,
she spilt herself too many times;
ain’t tears that wet her feet.
And though his well swims to the brim
you mustn’t be mistaken,
for his hot water runs blood red,
and best be seen forsaken.
But when I look into your eyes,
I know your well is true.
Let me dive into your heart
and drown in it with you.
We shan’t be tempted by colourful waters,
nor fill our pails beyond their peak.
He’ll show us where the well’s dug true,
where the water still runs deep.