All I do is not a lot
And those not-a-lots
Tend to add up,
So I guess that
All I do really is something
In the grand scope of things.

And if life is but a dream,
And I spend my days dreaming,
Then am I really wasting them?
Or am I living?
And when will I wake up?

My life is my nightmare
And only when I'm awake
Am I free to do everything.
It's when I sleep that I'm confronted
By all of the things
I'd rather not face.

Tell me what's real.