Dreams of heaven block my window
pictures of birds cover my feet, and I pretend I'm flying with the bright ones in a vibrant stream of righteousness
I put on my golden robe and tip toe down marble stairs, smiling up above.
My curtains ripple in the flow of life, and the course of life it runs.
Singing sweet songs of unfortunate people as they carry on unnoticed.

I dust my gold bars and stack my silver, and leave the bronze for my bedroom floor and I relish sweet ignorance.
Comes the storm fresh and alive, cooking in the sea's winds and water. My windows remain in the tactful nature as of a house of cards.
The storm passes, slowly and stale, and my curtains, no more.
Windows shatter, the remains float away as the storm of solitude continues on.
As my faults lie outside waiting to be picked up,
there she is.
Smiling.