Lyrics

I had a dream last night that somebody died. I don't want to say who, not that I'm superstitious.
It was just a dream. Your mind does what it wants when you fall asleep.
Puts together a recipe taking ingredients from your life awake, a five year old who pretends they're cooking something.
Unfortunately it will open cupboards you don't want to look in, draw from scared memories you thought you threw away.
Water, flour and green food-coloring makes a big mess.
But when you're there, it's real hurt and real loss no matter how absurd.
And the absurdity makes it worse.
Everyone's so callous and self-interested in you dreams.
A life-long friend will stonewall you like a stranger.
"I'm writing the theme to a TV show," they'll say as they sit on a box of road salt with a laptop.
And the room around you is someplace you've never been before buts feels so eerily familiar.
There is an architecture & infrastructure all it's own, and perhaps if you were an architect or an engineer you could draw plans to build that strange room or construct that street that you feel like you've been to so many times before.
Maybe you have a family there.
And your wife's father dies--
And your sad for him because you liked him well enough, but the whole time your just imagining the pain your wife feels--
How much she's going to cry when you see her.
And you carry this around but still have to go to work.
We still have jobs in our dreams, but the repetition we feel in our day to day lives is exponentially worse.
And there's this small notion in the back of our heads that knows--
That knows we are free in this realm, so why, for Christ's sake, do we still put in our time at the check-out stand.
I can fly, but I still choose to move my wrist over the scanner as I examine the poster of the TV show my friend wrote the theme for on the wall.
And I feel bad about myself.
As dream work is a series of mishaps that just can't be corrected--
a test that is always ending with nary an answer on the page.
If you feel small in real life, at night when you sleep you feel even smaller.
And when I wake up--
The residual weight stays with me--
Along with the realization that nobody died, everyone's fine.
But someday, someday sooner than we would like--
They will have to go. . .