Normally they are warped splendour Twisted wreckage of the day Piled on articles from papers Digested and forgotten long ago Forms disolve to truths and passions Love pokes out from every door Reality folds ten dimensions Into our cosy carpet on a floor Yet last night they wimpered Rooms merely rooms All just places for a bed As prosaic pointless passions capered From one poor-scripted line To its weaker less effective brother No more than a low bawdry show Suitable for coins and slots With most lonely private booths Boring even in the dreaming Enough to wake me twice Wasted nights shouldn't haunt me There's a few more in the store But dreams are where the joy rises Where deepest hopes are spun Wasted on some silly girl Who'll never sigh my name They die hopeless deaths Never to return again If they give me nought To give the world That's not been seen before I could do without the waking Get gentle good night's sleep Wake with rising morning Conquer some red rising tide Build a better mousetrap With a gentle glow inside Instead I wake distracted By dreams can never be Knowing I'm a patent fool Only dreaming that I'm free Peace from the faded demons Seems slow to come to me
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This work is Copyright (c) Mike Fletcher 2005