If you are dreaming me,
And I am dreaming you.
In the darkness,
We can see silhouettes, but of who?
Under the breath is a life and a story,
That will never be told.
What are we doing? are we stringing along?
Don’t be sorry for the things that we dream,
If all we’re really doing is fooling around in the back seat.
Who’s that in the driver’s seat? • More
I don’t mind, we’re unclean.
Said to keep it clean,
But I’m struggling,
Have you seen the state of my dreams?
Full of pot holes and plot holes.
In the dying light the gaps between trees,
Become strange incisions in the night sky.
We never say sorry to our wild side.
I don’t mind, we’re unclean.
I like that we’re unclean.