Dream Shelf - Irish Stew of Sindidun

Winter in your coats never seems to cease

They pictured you in summer, and you think you felt the heat

Having all your favorite colors while advertising smiles

But what’s the favorite color of the high blue sky?

Putting words in your mouth, they can say what they want

You’re convinced that is true, while they shackle your soul

With pockets full of money, you don’t need the Sun to shine

You’re a trunk of a dead-tree, but you think you’re really fine

And hanging on a dark road

I always see the light

Carrying dreams in empty pockets

With no home to rest tonight

I drink to shiver sadness

With broken wings to fly

So they can call me drunken bastard

But my heart and soul they cannot deny

Seven days a week you don’t have time to think:

Are you heading for tomorrow?

Have your eyes lost their gleam?

Is the smile on your face as happy as it seems?

Does your last tear rest on forgotten shelf of dreams?