She used to run free across the fields
laughing in the sun
now the spasms beat a staccato
dream dream dream
She used to be such a pretty girl
but now all she does is
dream dream dream
Billowing clouds of white around her
lace over her eyes laid out fine
above the rough concrete floor
in the honeycombed dreamers’ den
but all she sees is
dreams dreams dream
When once addicts craved elation or release
now just the sweet escape from electronics and concerns
now just the dreams
who knows what dreams, he thinks
looking at her golden hair
what dreams may come that beat the pale work world reality
that’s where he stays, until day is done and he comes to hide and watch her.
One tablet an angel takes,
one table an angel makes
softly dreaming, darkly dreaming
The floor beside her is dirty with neglect
but clear of debris and waste
dreamers don’t disturb their own sleep
He rests there beside her,
sometimes,
slips his hand in hers
and he wonders what her dreams become
when he sleeps he has none