Nothing is really, perfect, not nearly, as some stories have people believe

 Liking one-another is only made harder when these ideas make their way up our

sleeves

 I remember he told me to once think of a lonely old horse standing up on some

hill

 His ribs are all showing, he can't see where he's going and his belly’s all

covered in filth,

 And he just sort of stands there real still.

 Some folks might want to make believe and give him fake wings and put a horn

upon his face

 And have him dance around with ferry dust falling down, and feed him

strawberry cake

 They'll make him perfect, but we don't need perfect, 

 there's so much more real beauty, in that sad old horse, 

 all the memories and of course, the true stories that will always be 

 much better than make believe.

 True stories will always be 

 much better than make believe.