I didn't like that you were in my dream
I didn't care for the deeper meaning
Just for the proper morning
Stop this spinning world
from turning now
For what's it worth,
Earth is not a bumper car
Bumping into cheaper stars

But in dreamland
it's not that simple,
There's no plan
and the ample of people
can be quite bland
sitting in the temple
listening to the Papal's teaching
of the gospel
and like a bell ringing
I saw the ripple
of misunderstanding
spread through the crowd
All proud of their ways
All vowed never to sway

A lot of ****** up things happen in dreams.
Like that bus crash with the injured kids
eyelids half opened in pain
looking for help
but we kept on walking
despite all our preaching

I didn't like that you were there
to share that moment
I feared your judgement
too tired for an argument
I hated that a fragment of you
was buried in me
that laid dormant until now

My dream is my house
method within the madness
organised mess
although you gleam like gold
you're nothing but a mouse
hiding in my place
not scared to show your face
from time to time
But my house doesn't have a phone
to call pest control
so alone I patrol with a pistol
and hope I get lucky

When I wake up
I feel the ache of reality
come crashing down
a carefree burning
and suddenly
I'm mourning for last night

Just for a split-second
I wish I was dreaming again
because at least there
I know what I feel
Isn't real

I am up late
Past the witching hour
Where the open window is the moon
the cool breeze, my only sense of reality
There I am
Sitting in black
Eyes wide open
dusty buttons
stomach churning
In constant suspense of the morning chorus
For daytime has more fear to offer than night
The darkness only proves our worries
like demons  
Slowly rising and taking my brain apart with every second
Like a basket grinding against the walls of my heart as it brings the thoughts to safety  
Eroding my lucky mind
As I melt in the dark night  
And one blink later
I'm gone
Not to return for haunted hours

Only in the young and in the dying  can we find the least corrupt of thoughts and most open of hearts

In the Darkest of months
We're heaped up with hours
Too cold to be in any way
productive
Too dark to be in any way
Instructive
These are the hours
I desire to see you at
A soft summer beam  
That will light my way
And make me stay sane
During the month of locked doors
and smoking chimney tops
it's only too easy to let the weeks
Bury you a mile deep beneath the earth
  
So guide me through November
And I promise  
I'll guide you through anything
Be it a doubt, Pause, fall, tear or just a spilled cup of tea