worn and weary is the dreamer
whose nights are never in his kingdom
i'd imagine grass there to be greener
but oh his sleepless thoughts are always nearer

why is it though he cannot close
the battered windows of his soul
in this molten night i hear
his heart is made of brass

no seer could have ever seen
their silly little dream
he'd have her by the hand and hand
and have their little dance

they tired from their sweaters now
and suits and shoes and dresses
her lovely home awaited now
for shoes and suits and dresses

but the molten night consumes her now
as so it did with he
no dreamer could have ever dreamed
the seer
could ever
be