Quite strangely, I roamed about a room of dreams,
a quarter that held naught but smiles,
empty vessels for an endless future
that was destined for admiration.
I hear the chuckles of the great Irony's lips,
of how she had become what she dreamt,
of how she had dreamed of what she would become...
She could cry for hours and never drop a tear.
Of course the clouds appear, they dwell and wait.
The mood darkens, as do the words, and life moves on.
The heavens cry as laughs arise softly from the ground.
Or are they claps, revering the endless beauty?
O, yes, your endless beauty and continuing embrace,
so sweet as verses can capture and keep,
as I blindly roam, roam, roam,
as I utterly abandon reason and dwell.
There should be song where only pain I hear--
exquisite, enchanting, and consuming, as a meal--
as a metal that cannot seem to harden,
to cool after the fire has been retreated... such burden.
As the hours melt away, as the flow of time continues,
this brief chant will clear the way for the overflow...
Such beauty! O, yes, I can see it, I can taste it.
Dance away the hours, dance, dance, dance.
