This is that day we’ve been dreaming of
This is the day when all words rhyme
And are such sweet music,
When the sleeper next to me is
No longer lost between the canvas of the mattress
And the landscape of my dreams.
Ends, now, the morgue of the cloudless sky
And the tyranny of perpetual rain.
We will not pull from our pockets
Odd dust balls and hard, rolled bits of paper
On which were written the sad truth.
Step now into the kitchen, laboring with our minds alone,
Sleepwalkers on the prowl,
As Morpheus bakes a cookie.