The Dream Machine

If I were less than some impressed, voyeur of the stars
I’d sit beneath the sky above, and weave my threads
Manufacture empty schemes, build homes so far
Consume the dreams, from the Dream Machine
Though we are poles apart

The gold that glitters on TV screens,
Are the objects of our devotion;
The Masters who rise above, pinnacles of renown
Have only their own selves to adore
Though time knows no time to strike
And the Earth will once spin to a halt
Let us turn again, to the Dream Machine
That is after all, our default

At times I feel a thousand sorrows
And swords pierce my heart
But I need neither care nor this have to bear
If the Dream Machine gives me gaudy ‘Tomorrows’
The slumber is heavy, and the night is long
But dreams will carry us throughout
If you’re marching steps to the slaughterhouse after all
Who cares if the lights are out?

These pictures they seem so obscene to the untrained eye
The way they weave the wild tapestry of sand castles,
Though to murmur at least, it would suffice,
They’re only shadows in Plato’s cave,
Visions of our own hassles

My well-worn pace and surly disposition,my hunger and my thirst
These cannot be quenched by cotton candy dreams of the Dream Machine,
As at the end, every life bubble will have its time to burst.


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