If I could rearrange the scene
And paint the background gray
Then spin around three dozen times
It might make sense today.
But as it is
It’s drawn and tattered
A small rip at the seam
I swear I almost bumped my head
Against the ceiling beam.
For dreams are laid on golden paths
At least that’s what they say
No matter
I’ll just take my time
And see where my dreams lay.
