I heard, I heard
that there are five senses,
from thy sight to thy words,
a birth in the brain,
of a green blue 'n colored domain
But some see differently,
or when they [don't] hear,
"Come a-gain?"
it travels to the head
but what about when you go to bed?
What makes the dreams so fake?
So real?
Is it the fact that when we wake, we feel?
Or that in dreams, time stretches, in life it's steel.
I touch, I say it's ruff,
but to other it may be soft as rabbit fluff.
A illusion is not a illusion,
for then everything else is someone loosin
it aswell.
Some say there menally insane, but what makes them that
and us not?
What is us? What is them? Why does a needle decide what the thread is?
What if were all still in bed?
Never lift up thy heads?
Never went down in the first place?