Your desert has a skylight

The Dreamer’s Plot

I’ve just had the best idea:
Let’s burn down the theatre!
No, I mean it.
I’m not kidding,
I’m not dreaming,
I’m not giving
Him the satisfaction.

Are you nervous,
Ladies and gents?
Think I’ve lost my marbles?
You think I’ve spent
The last penny in the piggybank?
You don’t get what I meant.

I’m sure you’ve all seen
The wild wastrels between
Dead and alive,
Sleep and awake,
The ones whose dreams
Thrive upon them.
Push them down.
Bury them in wreckage
Of feathers and scales and crowns.

That’s not me, ladies and gents,
That’s not me.
The stage in my head
Is perfectly clean.
Oh yes, the sweeper’s been
And gone
And he’s tipped all those dreams
Into the incinerator,
And he’s turned it on.

Have you felt your dreams
Go up in smoke?
Have you smelt your head
Being singed from inside?
Peaceful in your bed
There are fires in your mind!
The stage curtains are scorched!
The upholstery’s the same!
The flames are licking up the balcony
And you know who’s to blame! 

The madman lighting cigarettes
Off your burning brain. 

All that imagination. Gone.
I think he does it to everyone.
And I’ve asked:
“Would you mind leaving that?
That one pretty thought?
One little scrap
Of last night’s fantasy?”
Oh no, not for me.

We are left gutted.
Burnt out, charred
Wall to wall, roof to floor.
We wake up more tired
Than we were before,
And I  suppose we could
Choose to ignore
The fact that we’re hopeless and empty.

Or tonight, as you drift off,
You could do the same as me.
Lock the stage door.
Dream of petrol. 
Breathe in the fumes,
You’ll sleep all the deeper.
Just before morning
When he comes creeping,
Takes a broom to your head,
And he sparks up
That first cigarette

PHWOOOOOOOOOM!

When we open our eyes,
The ash of dreams
Will carpet our rooms.
And I will sleep well
Every night
Visiting the dream sweeper’s tomb. 

edwardspoonhands:

androidthehuman:

here you go hank:

those are all the ones I have

dftba

I have a feeling I may break some people’s computers with this.