my dreams are real, not that yours aren't
but mine have been grown from the soil of heart
to be heard and be felt from the voice from within
a tune for the ears to raise bumps on your skin
just to hit you so hard that you fall to the floor
not from the punch of my fist but my truth you adore
not a quest for riches not a quest for things
not driven by fame or by diamonds or rings
an arena with thousands won't do the trick
if the words that i spread make my conscience feel sick
just a stool and a mic, an acoustic right there
in a bar just half full with most who don't care
the best part of all are the few who show up
not to drink and get drunk but just sip from their cup
as they laugh and converse about sports and the news
i sing on my own to my old fashioned blues
my most valued possession some may think is odd
not a possession all, but a smile and a nod