My brain ticks with a different kind of vigor
My brain licks at time, tasting new flavor
My brain thirsts for what isn't mine, nor my neighbours
My brain bursts at the dreams by a prickly Jailor.

Hail her, she mounts the mountains in attempts to see thee.
Completely unphased by the fountains that writhe beneath me.
I turn my back in revenge, revenge that bleeds me,
Dry of my vigor, dry of my fire for I am clay. See?

Mould me she said, with eyes deeper than gold strewn caverns in the beyond.
They perplex me, so, oh, so greatly they vex me, they stress me of concern.
I burn, nay, I am clay, so I yearn for this. Fair lady may I ask for one last kiss?
In my stead she kissed a statue instead, and left a mark, a deep copper red.

Goodbye she said, and she left the statue be, till the earth caved in, and so did the sea.
I cannot tell you how, or even of when. Or of when, or even of how can I not tell you?
Wow, I can tell you I saw a sky blue.
Or black, after Jailor's attack. Halt!

Stop dreaming! Oh please, do stop it henceforth!
I am mightily weary, must make trip to the north.
Lonely I have been, for you have not been.
So wake up and walk with that lop-sided grin.
Oh, what a tiresome companion you are,
Since I have made haste to journey thus far,
With you left behind after I had begun,
So pick up those feet, and away wierdy one.

Off we went, with my dreams in tow.
Whether I will have chance to taste them, I do not know...
But I know one thing, a something so grand.
When I next feel weary and dreary of hand,
I shall await to journey, that dreamer's land.