Future Fiction
you're there with pretty green strings
strung to misfortune and desire,mismatching attire
you smile from across the heaven
and fabricated a feelings's seeds
you lift yourself from the hardness
and your dreadful spiteful deeds
and I whisper to the bartender,
"The next dream's on me"
you stare into your glass
focused on empty lust and greed
scanning down the path
for a young strong worthy steed
but your picture's just the past
and your tears are why you bleed
and as you scrape your dusty pockets
the next dream's on me
and he pours another glass
says, "this one's free"
and your eyes find me finally
and then you see
that your worries are just boundaries
where your mind and spirit meet
and I lift my glass deliberately
"this dream's on me"
