My,my,my dream

i am free this morning.

the sky blue and grey

thinking of the future

as soon as my eyes awake

i dreamt,of a lyricist

or a man of his word

a figure who is not a fascist

standing rugged in this punctured world

i awoke,with my heart fluttering

although the sky is so very somber

i know today is my occasion

where i reach for light without damnation

i’m certain,to meet this man again

i walk downstairs unheard,search for a cigarette

tackle to fix my hair,use my reflection on the left

as i watch myself in the mirror

i rest my palm on the bump of my chest

discern to the dream,dots begin connect

i sense now,i am the lyricist

as i build my own walls,an architect

i am a dance and i paint my art 

standing so tall

the man of my heart

this very well could be a song

and i’ll decide that,on my own