Oh what dreams ly in hollow worn beds
with delusions of grandeur running through and through their heads.
What fate these dreams hold
in the dark weary night.
They ly dormant, with hope so old,
life so dreary, so cloudy, and so cold
Thoughts of life, always uneasy
full of memories so so unpleasing,
The fire burns, but the smoke smothers.
All wishes, all wants, and all the others
Washed away by waves of death
all alone with nothing left;
Days go by all in repeat
Never seeing the light or feeling the heat;
A glimpse of heaven, a feeling of hell
always there but can never tell.
These dreams they ly
never to transpire,
only to watch
and wait for the fire.