Finally my day has stopped
Head on pillow, pill popped
Floating into my favourite time.
Pull up the duvet, feel divine.
Now I just have to wait for it,
As I inevitably toss and turn for a bit.
That drifting feeling washes over,
I finally become one with the covers.
Will there be demons or monsters within?
Or visions of scantily clad women?
Distant shores with sands of blue,
Lapping waves of green on view.
Pink mountains with yellow peaks
And purple trees into my dream sneaks
Criss crossed with burgundy roads
Covered by orange polka dot toads
Whose croaks are in the key of 'C'
Not too loud respectfully
On my journey I come to a town
Somewhat drab and painted brown
This town is ancient and rather old
Yet it's windows glisten gold
This is my dream, what do you expect?
Everything to be normal and perfect?
Sticks of rock with arms and legs?
Or a crippled unicorn that begs,
All that pass for new shoes?
As the stick of rock sings the blues.
There is one thing of which I'm sure.
The usual ritual I always endure.
As soon as my dreams becomes dirty,
I wake up and notice it's only 3.30!