Dilettante my love my wine
How many are you in there
How your young mind
Grows to disgust of finished things
All are one so never to be done
All are you so never to be one
Dilettante of everything
All the dreams of dreams asleep
For never to accomplish
What another man dreams
Dilettante of it all
Pleasurable being
That simply waits for sleep
and it never truly comes
Eyes, on cupboards and melted cheese
As useless as a broken
ball
The cloud is you're thing
The cloud and the grass
The grass
The grass