Village Idiot Publishing (C) 2000 Diary of a Spirit
AN ENDLESS DAYDREAM
Drifting away on a cool winter day,
Floating on an alcoholic cloud.
Engaging in conversation,
That's pleasant, or so it seems;
If you can understand a thing that they say.
Is it intellectual dribble,
Or maybe a slur of the tongue?
Who really knows what goes on in their minds?
Now some like a slight buss,
Where others just like to float along,
But they all have one thing in common;
The essence of time, is of no reason or rhyme,
And reality, is an infringement of the mind.
They walk to the store, in hopes of a score,
And wait diligently for the time to buy.
Oh the joy it will bring,
When it finally hits the brain,
And the angel of either guides the way.
But who really cares, when you're filled to the brim.
For time is of no essence, when your drifting away,
And the order of the day is a buss,
And those words will be shouted, when pay day arrives;
Condition red 101's on it's way!
And time will declare, there's nothing more dear,
Than a daydream, and a buss, to a drunk.