I hate how alive I feel when I hear you talk
and I hate how I relapse back to dead when you stop
all I’ve got is my love for things that are afar
like I’ve got visions to be exiled in capri or just
visions in capri
but in all things real— I’m wrapped up in bedsheets
with a need to have a synopsis stamped secertly on my back
trailing this ever-ending daydream galore, of my life
from start to end
you won’t believe how free it feels to be waken up from the sea
and you won’t believe how free it feels to forget that the sun is real
because none of us could be ever feel of such things
unless you were to be plagued with eagle eyes for brains like me
I’ve got visions of a life like San Michele on the isles capri
and it isn’t so hard to live it for a day or two
or three
when the life you got is a never-ending daydream galore, that’s just so far away from everything you love