Fantastic Fantasies
My dreams are alive, they talk and they share,
They’re awake when I’m asleep in my head.
And they ride me through these fantastic fantasies,
When they take me away from this bed.
And my dreams can be loud with these colorful clouds,
Making sense when sense is away,
When sense is insane, like a wingless airplane,
Flying through a storm on a sunny blue day.
But best of all is the pillow I have, my storage, my chest,
It’s my safe that’s locked up firm, locked up tight.
And when I wake up every day and read through this pillow,
It gives me the poems to write.
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