There aren't many but that's okay.
Soaked them from dreams and nightmares,
spilling the blue and the grey.
Infusion of madness when I close my eyes.
I travel far and deep through space and time,
and in my mind there's no residue of sadness.
I wiped it away with a cloth drenched in life.
Awake there are different dimensions to face.
Reality is an old enemy, a fiend I am used to.
Yawn and sharpen my gaze,
look in the mirror and I look away,
still tired but I can't face the day.
Self-deception's a habit that I want to break.
Yet there's more to the ego than meets the I,
and there's plenty of use in the future
but there surely is no you in mine.