When I dream, I dream of you.
And when I dream of you it's in colors that don't exist.
Mind twirlin, boggling away.
It's in my sleepyhead, in my bed where I wish to stay
and perhaps find a name for these colors I cannot recite
and dream of you for always just like day turns into night.
Still I awake from a fuzzy view and find the pillow I'm holding isn't you.
Salted drops form in envelopes of my eyes that are slitted open when I think of how my dreams lie.
And the letter I cry to you is carefully folded inside.
Ink made of tear drops and moon beams and rainbows that leave me starry eyed.
Sep 24, 2012
Sep 24, 2012 at 6:53 PM UTC
When I dream, I dream of you.
And when I dream of you it's in colors that don't exist.
Mind twirlin, boggling away.
It's in my sleepyhead, in my bed where I wish to stay
and perhaps find a name for these colors I cannot recite
and dream of you for always just like day turns into night.
Still I awake from a fuzzy view and find the pillow I'm holding isn't you.
Salted drops form in envelopes of my eyes that are slitted open when I think of how my dreams lie.
And the letter I cry to you is carefully folded inside.
Ink made of tear drops and moon beams and rainbows that leave me starry eyed.
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