Tired of the same old dreams,
searching through the palest of moonbeams,
surfing on the tops of restless waves,
counting the hours of these endless days,
praying for things the soul does not need,
to the morning gods, the powers of greed,
mirrored ceilings and heart shaped pools,
senses played in this ship of fools,
someone come and take my hand,
the coolness of water in the barren sand,
yesterdays remain in the past,
futures grasped that never last.