Perched on a ledge,
hidden in the hedge,
amid the rose buds,
along the water's edge,
puffing a pipe
stuffed with crops,
freshly roasting and ripe,
set like phyllo.

Spinning,
winning the stare,
moving to the bass,
inhibitions unshared.
No inhibition
in an oblivious crowd,
covered by laughter,
and masked in a cloud.

I wouldn't be surprised
if we moved past these lies
because I cannot deny
you can't always comply
with the rules of the crowd
because, it's dreamer...
in dream lived out loud.