there are two minute tunes that will pop in my head
and find their way down from my pillow covered in moonlight
in a search for an ear to rest themselves in
a place thats much better than blue carpet and hindsight

redundancy remains a shadowing stranger in that land
if the words and the syllables all sound the same
it wont matter too much in the morning to resist the torment
and the feeling doesnt speak english
and words are the colors of whatever is playing in the background

from eyes that lie from light unknown
to find enough hope to continue or
to find enough strength to ignore the despair for just one more day
until despair becomes joy
and everything is easy
and then one day the moon breaks off in my window.

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