Paint your dreams

I have sent you my heart, the one that arrived in your post today
Wrapped in a silk sheet-my blanket of hope
The one in a small box-my three dimension prison
The heart that beats in time with yours
I have sent it to you because it is no longer mine to keep
Do with it what you will
It is a good heart, naïve in its beliefs
Vulnerable but pure.
Society has many a time challenged its strength
Society has many a time failed to blacken its surface.
The heart weary of keeping its shields high and polished
The heart that has broken and remolded itself too many times
The heart that's desire for freedom chokes it, blinds it and disowns my mind

You are now in charge, and the rest of me knows what will happen
But my heart will accept me as its owner
It wants only you, and all of you
So I will live without it, although it will always inevitably be apart of me
It will never again be truly mine.
Apart of me resents you for that.
Yes you, you came along and stole it from me
You took in its glow and your eyes then spoke for you.
They told her to go against all that I believe in
They gave her a thousand empty promises
They blinded my poor innocent heart from all reason
Those eyes, those selfish, searching eyes-I hate them!

And if by some small and unlikely chance
Your heart blinds you, then so be it.
And together our hearts will beat as one, and we will be forced to love each other
Just for that forbidden microscopic chance my heart will dance
Just as the sun sets into the night
So will my heart follow yours to your sunrise
There is nowhere it would rather be.

Oh my dear, foolish heart, what have you got yourself into this time
You to readily give yourself to another, despite all that has happened
You still believe in the hope for mankind to unite as one.
Oh my dearest friend, please treat it well for it knows not what it does
And dare I question its desires, it will make me miserable
I have thought long hard thoughts without words
And I have decided that this is the best way to deal with it.
I have sent you my heart, and now it belongs to you.

( Bun )

an autum leave sways swiftly, but lands gentally on the earth
babies cry,so do the people surrounding,the utter miricle of birth
the moment of stillness befor the storm is the warning siren of god
horses with wings, and magical things, the intenecerty of the unknown card
so we turn the page of our sub-contious book to unravel tonights dream
sometimes confusing,sometimes adventures, some so terrifing we scream.

what is it that stirs our rage?
is it power and beauty?
what is it that can melt my cage?
is it the one who burns me?
what is it that can steel my soul?
is it the craving of a hopeless goal?
AND
who is it that paints my dreams?
it's not the bloom of the trees that surround me,
it's not the one that tries to enchant me,
it's not the drug that sets me free,
it might be the artist that lives deep within my mind.
showing me things in black and white
some say you never see faces in your dreams
but always know who it is...
i dont think it matters

i think we dream because there is an artist in each one of us
that needs to be set free
we lock her up in a cage in our sub-contious,
scared of what we'll see.
then when we're asleep,
out she'll creep,
and show us what needs to be seen.
why do we lock up our painters,
hide them away-it seems so unfair and mean....
there is alot to be learnt about the human race

( Bun )