At night they gather on the roof
Frolicking around while I dream in bed
Watching closely, yet still aloof
I think they're only in my head.
They always stay near in hand
And all my poetry they have read
Their presence is always grand
I think they're only in my head.
The six of them have hearts of gold
And the blood flowing is even red
Yet their type is still untold
I think they're only in my head.
At night they gather on the roof
I think they're only in my head.