When I talk about dreams,
mine are free.
I take in what I hear,
But I use only what I see.
I thought about what they told me.
My paintbrush is a weapon.
I’ll pick it up and use it against
the liars who brought hell to heaven.
Compared to a hero,
I’m nothing but a weasel.
But who’s to stop me from painting my dreams
on this blank easel?
I sit here in serenity
thinking about all the liars
who sat here in my head
and lit my grey cells on fire.
But they don’t scare me anymore.
I can’t control my insanity.
Light flames in my head, I’ll remain still
because I’m dreaming in reality.