Hannah doesn't dream, That's what I've heard at least She lies in a small cold bed Where sugar plums aren't dancing, Closing her eyes behind her head She sleeps until the morning fills The room with anything but black Standing up, another day, just trapped.
Hannah doesn't dream, Not a sheep, a blink, or wink. But last night she made a song To the drips of the bathroom sink. She told me of a real place, Unlike the dancing going through my skull It sounds like home, only more magical.
Hannah doesn't dream, She sees the beauty in the awake, The sky, the sun, the leaves, The whisper as the wind cuts through the trees. Hannah doesn't dream, She doesn't need to it seems
A name is but a label that has branded us for life Hannah A name such as my own, Biblical in nature Meaning so much more to me than “The grace of god” Hannah With a heart for spoken word And a mouth more than capable Hannah Who knows the great pleasure of the perfect phrase And always has something to say Hannah I’ve got a way with words, And I’m stronger than most Hannah A heavy heart, And gentle hands Hannah With uncle lost to a smoking gun, At the scene of a suicide Hannah A snapping turtle beneath my skin Timid but fierce Hannah With intellect in my veins And curiosity all the same Hannah Like a pine cone Those rough and pointy edges remind me of my own Hannah Made from good intentions And full of pride Hannah Backwards I am the same, For I have only one face. Hannah My two-toned mind Damaged, but alive Hannah My bipolar-stained brain Depression? or mania? Hannah Because what good is “the grace of god” if he only chooses to pit you against yourself Hannah For I am my only rival Or Peninnah I should say Hannah For while god's word may be gracious It is my name not his