Toss,
Turn.
Toss,
Turn.
wake,
dress,
work,
earn.
Eat,
fight,
lie,
spite,
Sleep.
Toss,
Turn.
Toss,
Turn.
We are but troubled
dreams,
of a restless god.
Our every living action,
is but a tiny fraction
of the nightmare
crowding in
pushing the frame,
testing the strain
of his skull.
The edges of sanity
crack like
mortar,
The drunks enjoy
their gin and porter.
The teens rebel,
use sex to sell
the booze,
and cigs,
and drugs,
and things.
The adults,
secure in
"Maturity"
are no better off
than are we.
They have their problems,
doomed to hell,
and corperations,
use sex to sell
the booze,
and cigs,
and drugs,
and things.
The elderly
do not escape.
As disturbed dreams,
they share our fate.
Closer, though,
to the dreamer
are they,
it lends desperation
to their day.
Toss,
Turn.
Toss,
Turn.
Wake,
dress,
work,
earn.
Eat,
fight,
lie,
spite,
Sleep.
Toss,
Turn,
Toss,
Turn.
We lend to the nightmares
of the diety
who created thee.
Toss,
Turn.
Toss,
Turn.
We are but troubled
dreams.
...
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