My friend had a dream that she was shooting morphine in her veins,
It came up through her mouth and everything was blue and red.
Well my friends drink alone, but at least they've had someone love them once or twice,
The same for me cannot be said.
And how I miss those ideal worlds,
how I miss those ideal worlds,
Oh how I miss those ideal worlds of sexless empathy.
How I miss those ideal worlds,
how I miss those ideal worlds,
Oh how I miss those worlds that used to live inside of me.
See that boy, he's walking home, he's barely 21,
With his poems in his shaking hands, his back turned to the sun.
But he is not the picture of heartache or suffering,
In fact he might feel pretty lucky if he heard the song that old man sings.
Saying sorrows only pretty when you've got no lines in your face,
Sorrows only cute when your composure needs no grace.
But boy you'll be a man someday, oh girl you'll be a woman
And you will understand someday, I bet you wish you wouldn't.
But how I miss those ideal worlds,
how I miss those ideal worlds,
Oh how I miss those ideal worlds, like pages torn from hymnals.
How I miss those ideal worlds where tree hearts beat in boys and girls,
Before time dwindled down in me like gasoline in thimbles.
There's a girl inside that airport, oh she's almost 25,
She's been living on a tour bus, selling songs to stay alive.
And she's talking on a pay phone to a man she used to idolize,
Back when she was younger and the flesh was smooth beneath his eyes.
He's saying tragedy, adversity, they don't just stop at 30,
But it might not come prepackaged, kid, you might get your hands dirty.
But remember you were just 18 when you came to my concert,
From the front row you stared up at me and thought 'good God, I want that.'
And how I miss those ideal worlds,
how I miss those ideal worlds,
Oh how I miss those ideal worlds I made up in my bedroom.
How I miss those ideal worlds,
how I miss those ideal worlds,
Oh how I miss those ideal worlds, the ones I used to sell you.
Last night I dreamt that I was walking on a lake shore,
The willow trees had human hearts, I touched each one to make sure.
And a boy appeared before me, he was wearing striped pajamas
A little pale and sickly, oh, but such a lovely canvas.
He said I'm 'Matty From The Midwest but I've gone by lots of names.
We were friends when we were younger, we would play such splendid games.'
And so I dressed him all in forest finery,
With a crown of willow branches and a robe of woven ivy leaves.
And placed him on his tree trunk throne for everyone to see,
But when I went to hold his hand, he just turned into me.
And sorrows only pretty until time has found your body, kid.
Sorrows only dear until your hair has gone to gray.
Then it all just turns to loneliness, and that's what terrifies me.
How am I supposed to deal with this when chance and beauty run away?
And how I miss those ideal worlds,
how I miss those ideal worlds,
Oh how I miss those ideal worlds that I used to believe in.
How I miss those ideal worlds,
how I miss those ideal worlds,
Oh how I miss those worlds as one by one I watched them leaving.
December, December, December, they call as each one fades to wind.
December, December, December they call as each one fades to wind.