She’s the only who knows
the mysteries behind our eyes
She dreams of crows
As black as death, as stiff as lies,
Pecking at her until the boat she rows
and that sometimes she flies
over the ocean of silken water flows
She dreams of the sun gold-plating the mountains
And warm crystal melting into milk
and honey, and the nectar that reign
over happiness that cannot be fringed,
She dreams of air exploding into space
making the planets breathe,
And the sun flare, while the comets don’t trace
what they always searched for
Amongst the stranger start.
And yet she dreams, night and day
of metal and plastic, demons and fey
They call her the Queen of Dreams.