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What is it now, oh friend of mine?
You whimper in your sleep.
You dream of other worlds again
And whisk away on zephyr winds
To deeper hidden places in your mind,
To hideaways and mountain passes
Where wallowing in summer grass
Is just your soul embarking through the night.

But how should I presume to know
Your consciousness, your dreams?
We thought your thoughts were nothing more
Than tattered rags and hardwood floors,
The burrows that you build from what you find.
But oh, what depth inside of you
To think that you’ve been dreaming too
Of every star in every rusty sky.

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