i was living like a dream
sometime between now and two thousand seventeen

i’d come back to where it slipped
bedside blues and a final script

i took the pen and i wrote a song
about a innocent man who got it wrong

a grievance borne while he was young
that killed his soul and held his tongue

a little less human with each release
made him someones conversation piece

so i studied Frued like it was my whole life
and i’ll tell you now i could see his eyes

his blue retinas like the pull of waves
then the air was clear and i lost my phase

someone should find a way to say
that the ocean blue is more often grey

and i swear i’m never like this but it got this way
i felt my grasp on life quickly slip away

my favorite thing was no longer mine
and sure, i could chalk it up to a bad design

a chance at life if is to die on knees
God knows i live my life to please

and if it’s utter fascination too
i’d like to hear a new point of view

i lost some hope in writing this
if the words are faint and meaning missed

there’s no room for me between the lines
but there’s more to this than if it rhymes

and yes i’m full of concept dreams
where no one asks what all this means