Bloodshot digits awaken from below,

Increasing quantity and noting my pace.

The only light to tell me where to go,

I go everywhere, and yet I stay in place.

The world outside is curled in shades of ink,

The day unwritten and the slate is clear,

And in this nothing, I can't help but to think,

Of anything but music in my ear.

I press an unseen button and I fly,

In spite of what is thought of dreamer's dreams,

To places that exist behind my eyes,

Places stitched together by music's seams.

While some prefer the street, sidewalk or park,

We, the dreamers, are running through the dark.