not quite awake....this i can't fake...
burning books inside my head....wishing famed writer's hands
were dead...
born and bred to work instead.....
pasting words together with keystroke and desire.....
my ideals refuse to meld by touch of fire.....
this song is long and old it seems......
it's the cry of unrealized dreams...
with crown on head or wearing a weathered mask of
skin....the end bears the same famed print of artwork....
may my vision be keen and the ocean seem real....
as i sit and turn the pages of time.....
