i awaken i see to my left the sunrise, the reds the yellows and orange reflecting off the sky and see, as i look upward, the reflection of it's beauty on the ceiling. from the mirror on the water outside
i lie in my bed, in my perfect world, not a thought nor a care to me
i hear the birds singing songs of perfection, and their beautiful feathers i see. when is it made clear that the things which i hear are in actuality naught but my dreams
for as i sleep, in my perfectly non-perfect world, it is all but imperfect, it seems.