I see things when I close my eye's to the violent of the night,
the sounds around me take there place,
inside my private mental space.
In my dreams, I some times cry,
folks come back who long since died,
the air in there is pure.
Sometimes I dream inside of dreams,
no one around to hear my screams,
death seems Oh! so pleasant.
I walk the roads of fever,
wisdom locked inside a mental prism,
a prison in my mind.
Death is a monkey jumping through the hoops, of the mystic boogaloo, the burning rings of fire.
Lust, and passion.
To build a mansion out of sand,
inside my mind, the mind of man,
to drift into the seasons,
(Dreaming, Dreaming, Dreaming,)
Someone stop that goddamn monkey screaming!!!!.