I guess you figure it out what makes me say the things I say
This is where dreams belong
A temple in my heart where love resides
It springs volume of unsung songs to the lips of the mute
This imagination weaves the dream of the poet
So divine, so true what really happens in a poet's dreams
It's like finding shelter in natures' fragrance
Where all worries die and never to resurrect
Isn't it beauty, or it's sheer magic that rests in the heart of the poet
You see rainfall, I see little drops of magic
Washing ashore the stress of this life
This is what makes the dream of the poet
A wall of steel built around the beauty of imagination
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