There’s a place in our heads
where forgotten dreams go
hand in hand with midnight ideas
and drunken resolutions
A bustling place, filled with lace
Everyone’s in costumes
they smell like butter biscuits.
And the tea and the dance never ends…
It’s time to go—
leave all of it at the door!
In fleeting moments of awakening
you catch a glimspe of it
Like a lens that can’t quite focus…
Sharpening into shapes of reality