There is poison in the air
And in the bed that one sleeps
As he tossed around, and moaned;
Dreams can be a dangerous place to be
He pants and he runs
Catching up and fleeing away
Yet still the dreams are of many
And of that many, all of the same thing
Perspiring paranoia and gasping desperation
Of failing probables and infinite misery
But every nightly terrors he dreams oh he dreams
For if he dreams enough, his world is his.
No comments:
Post a Comment