What are you doing in my dreams, guitar boy?
What are you doing in my mind,
Singing with your lovely voice,
Lighting the darkness with your smile?
What are you doing in my dreams, guitar boy?
You are dead, though to me
You do not exist
You are nothing to me,
Yet you are something like my sacred, secret taonga
But still...
What are you doing in my dreams, guitar boy?
Why have you come back?
To haunt me with your warmth,
That closeted me before we waved goodbye?
What are you doing in my dreams, guitar boy?
In all these years, I thought about you
I thought about you, I dreamt about you,
How could you come back to me?
I'm not as pretty as those you've met,
What are you doing in my dreams, guitar boy?
I visit you, not that you visit me
You have nothing to see of me
Just bare-faced truths about me
In which I'd hate for you to see.
What you doing in my dreams, guitar boy?
What really do you want of me?
If you knew me, I know all too well you'd leave me.
Go away, guitar boy,
You're too good for me.
YOU ARE READING
Inside. Outside.
RandomA freestyle writing book that contains personal experiences, encounters, thoughts and ideas. Fijian/Pacific Islander story. Ranked no.19 for Fiji
