monuments that are made of moonlight, fading into the day;

a mind as an hourglass, sand that cannot empty; a sandman

who visits you when you are awake, rubbing an irrational dream

into the corner of your eye; a rash that is psychosomatic,

the path that cannot be taken, taken; the psycho path

your own Boulevard of Broken Dreams, your own Green Day;

a wind of lyrics pushing you forward, while you remain planted,

as if a plant; roots that root against you; ground that, likewise,

grounds you the way parents do; an eternal childhood; a world

you cannot grow up "in"; a world you can only grow out of.