Portraits of the Subconcious

Flowers find their way into restless sleep Conscious nightmares make for weary dreams She stands there idly, smoking her cigarette Following the path to find nothing in the end Reaching the end to find it all starts again Flowers find their way into restless sleep Remaining still in order to remain unseen Shadows hiding what remains to be seen She stands there idly, smoking her cigarette Falling angels make the best shooting stars Burning up in the atmosphere in dreamland Flowers find their way into restless sleep Bringing back the throbbing on the inside first Staring blankly into the night sky, she waits She stands there idly, smoking her cigarette Sometimes the tourniquet don’t really work Then the dreams seep into the waking mind Flowers find their way into restless sleep She stands there idly, smoking her cigarette