Thursday, February 21, 2008
`dreams for sale
were our dreams for sale
at fifty pence apiece
on torn paper planes
or broken glass bottles
goodbye
because it's harder to say thank you
a photo will do
before Mr. and Mrs. Snowman melt
forget the tears
they don't remember you either
they forgot many things
they forgot not to fall
listen too
when the wind blows
as we lie under the shade
of an apple tree
long long ago
we drew this picture
a boy and a girl
but there wasn't me
secrets by the bed
stuffed under books
we gave them names
we called them diaries
long long ago
there was this boy
oh how silly he was
he saw pictures
of a boy
of a girl
and he thought he was inside them
long long ago
there was this boy
oh how silly he was
how long it took him
to realise
that real lies
were real
oh yes,
my dreams are for sale,
at fifty pence apiece
on torn paper planes
and broken glass bottles
and fallen stars
and thorned roses
and yellowed diaries
and discoloured paintings
and monochromed stories
`dreams for sale
I'd love to sell you my dreams.
so that you'll know
12:57 AM; `dead.Y