I want to sit on a stool,
In the middle of an open loft that has been splattered with paint
and has massive posters in select places.
Not enough to distract attention from the emptiness
and open feeling of the room, but just enough to give it a warm feeling.
I want to carry an amplifier in there,
and I want to bring my guitars.
A microphone would be there.
A piano, and you would be sitting behind it.
Maybe the sun would be setting,
Or maybe it would be rising.
Whenever we're together,
Time doesn't affect our ambiance.
If we were alone
With no one to distract us
Would time stop?
Would it keep going?
I guess we'll find out someday.
The music would start.
Words wouldn't be necessary yet,
So the sound would carry through the room
Free of any voices filling the air.
There would only be music,
And the constant breathing of our efforts.
I think I could be content there.
I think we could be happy,
Just you and me.
But sometimes I wonder if I am just dreaming
And when I wake, I'll see that none of this is really here.
That all of these ideals,
All of these beliefs and misconceptions are just illusions,
Like the nightmares that surround your mind when you sleep
And my hopes of ridding you of them.
I don't know.
Maybe we are dreaming.
I like this dream and I'll keep on pretending that it is real
Because until I wake from it
This is about as real as it gets.