Dream Life

                                                 She has a bookshelf for a heart, And ink runs through her veins, She'll write you into her story, With the typewriter in her brain, Her bookshelf's getting crowded, With all the stories that she's penned, Of the people who flicked through her pages, But closed the book before the end, And there's one pushed to the very back, That sits collecting dust, With its title in her finest writing, "The One's Who Lost My Trust", There's books she's scared to open, And books she doesn't close, Stories of every person she's met, Stretched out in endless rows, Some people have only a sentence, While others once held a main part, Thousands of inky footprints, That they've left across her heart, You might wonder why she does this, Why write of people she once knew? But she hopes one day she'll mean enough, For someone to write abo...

                                              The sun is rising slowly From behind the hills In the moment you wake up The day begins You wish the streets were empty So you could hear your thoughts But instead , they are crowded Yet you feel alone The city of dreamers Where everyone wants To have a perfect life So they sell their souls At the end of the day Everyone is alone Fighting their own demons Behind the closed doors When you are by yourself At the end of the day All your fears are gone And you are dreaming again The moon is shining bright But no one is asleep In the land full of people Who follow their dreams