Mama, you let them steal me away; Some verile display of economy. Papa, you let them make me pay; For all the things I didn't know I needed. You've made me into a dull beige billboard, A bit like wallpaper but something more tacky. You've made me want to return once more To a childhood dreamt of in subtle philosophy.

Hey you.../ I'm so bored and I'm runnin' out of rope/ Too many gray ideas in colourful fronts/ Hey you.../ I'm so high; used to be life, now it's dope/ Too many hammers with sex and jingles crushing skulls// Brain damage; what you want most will hurt you/ Slave language; Who do you let express your hope?/ Hey you...wake up

Wake up that creativity/ Wake up the life in you'n me/ Wake up the possibility/ Find hidden truths you do not see/ Wake up your slumbering brothers/ Wake up the safe and still mothers/ Wake up young minds and others/ Stoke O2 for those been smothered

Hey you.../ I'm so mad and I'm leaking prudence and patience/ I hate to see my people turned into statues/ Hey you.../ I'm so tired of your patriotic complacence/ Lucky rulers, men don't think// Brain damage; what you cling to kills you/ Slave language; how truly different are we two?/ Hey you...wake up.

My friend asked metaphorically, "Don't you wanna see the sea?" I said, "I wanna see it all, but I want to see HER most of all."

The gold will fall from my hair/ The edge will dull of my fear.

When we get past these blemishes of insecurity/ I find we're all quite beautiful; to dream.

You were in my dream last night, you know? I was holding your hands on high school bleachers while a horror story played out below. There was a monster on the loose, freightening the peoples, killing others. All I could keep my attention on was your hands and my suprise and delight they didn't pull away; less suprise and more an insecurity. I was stroking the back of your tender hands with my thumbs and you just stared out on the scenes unfolding, face melancholy and beyond introverted or extroverted. I couldn't tell if you even knew I was there but I could sense I was a comfort and holding your hands was a dream (in a dream) or a drug or a purely satisfying moment but deeper. There was a quiet connection and the moment was blended in with my soul and your brown eyes; big and overwhelmed. I woke up and held onto the incredible feeling (like home) as the sun crept up from the hills to the East. I kept my face in the pillow and held the warmth in my sleepy smile. I must have layed half-awake for 2 hours in that sort of reality-shifting state of mind where you can't tell the difference between the world of reality and the reality of dreams, prolonging the euphoria and revelling in the brightness and beauty of what we shared behind my eyes. The Fleetwood Mac you so love is the perfect peice to accompany this; exciting, beautiful, heartfelt, hopeful. We are not so different, you and I. I am believing you desire a protector, someone to break the cold winds of the world, someone to hold you and tell you everything will be fine. Like a child, is your heart, so vulnerable and pure. I think you want to be needed, like I, but you have problems opening doors, like I, and you have so much to offer forth, like I. I don't want to be seperated by a neon similarity. Let's get together and weather the storm. I can be your house and you can be my home. I can hold you hands and you can hold my stone gaze. What do you say? Do you want to dream with me? Come to my arms and together we can sleep and explore the deep recesses of each other and the pains of joy. You were in my dream last night, you know?

She falls through the ashes like a bird aflame; defiant and brilliant, throwing off the dark with a deep laugh and her eyes tell of a time past and an age coming of harmony and pain to be endured, for naturally nature wins in the end and the end is not ugly but in the eyes of lesser men. BURN BIRD OF LIGHT BIRD OF LIFE BURN IT DOWN TO THE GROUND.

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