He asked me, 'So how do you make a living?' I said,
I breathe deep, eat slow, and thank my
food before I eat it.
He said, 'No, I mean how do you pay your bills, your rent, how do you furnish your home?' I said,
I said, 'I live in my heart, I keep it clean and its doors open for all to freely come and go.'
He laughed at me, so I cried for him, because he couldn't understand what I was saying.
He thought I was upset, but I wasn't, it just happens that sometimes I cry when I'm praying,
You see I don't have much to offer you my friends, except for everything I have,
An open heart, a crooked smile, and a handful of paper planes,
These words that pour forth from the palms of my hands, they are destined for short flights, So come my love, take these paper planes I write, let us for a moment imagine we can fly.