Walkin’ on paper of rice
whenever you’re around,
I don’t want to play that game anymore.
too many times I’ve been so bound.
I’m the one today
to whom I must be true.
Like me or not, that’s up to you.
I have to be myself.
In illusion, I’ve lived before.
Dreams are nice, beautiful things,
while all is going well.
Built of mist and light,
they’re enjoyable and enlightening;
In the hands of a devious mind,
materials are changed.
When they crumble,
the pain’s for real.
Where’s the mist and light?
Somewhere, somehow they changed.
The light was drained,
the darkness reigned,
yet the dreamer couldn’t see.
Dream structures laid to waste
caused real injuries,
cut to the bone.
Wha'cha think?