These dreams are a blue suit
That I’ve worn beyond it's limits
Made of flimsy little words
These otherworldly thoughts
Are the threads that join
Our avian souls to ancient nests  
When birds have fireplaces again
We all can have our own frame of references
So we drain the wells and the swamps
That are encompassing the darkness
These centipedes guard our hearts
Until in the end we free their many legs
Which are bound with solemn threads
Leading us to our inevitable depths
We are heading towards cacophonous dead ends
That we mistake too often for the sound of laughter
There is a place of innocence that we must have lost
If each night is a dream come too quickly
And now you dress your wounded feet in hungry stockings
As if i could feed your heart's tenderness
With all of gravity's faults and longings
Life is a tangled up rose bush
And love is a living garden
Time is a boiling *** of something
We can’t quite put our fingers in yet