Monday

He's the writer saw a beautiful dream 
it was the whole of creation, 
that he misses so. 
London walked down the street together. 
I get up in the seventh airship, 
I get on top of the rainbow. 
The first night, Monday 
This was when, as the kingdom still 
waiting for their prince. 

Maybe I'm blind, 
or the warmth of my heart cover 
the thick bark of despair. 
Not to help a gentle voice, 
not reproving Sermon on the Mount. 

I just write, I live and resourceful. 
I slept as wake up 
princess a hundred years old, and 
is the kiss of a prince, 
over woman's new country. 

In the evenings, I go to his pillow just the heart 
to rest, the moment always 
I am a full woman, so different. 

Again, arrived Monday, 
now have a week to go until received. 
It was my dream man, 
I miss you so. 
Eyes, when caught in depressions, 
so your soul from fabric 
the reflected. 

Now is the point again in September, 
heart of plaster, and 
wrappers hides. 
Our access to paradise once again was denied. 
The night of dreams some Finnish people 
algae were in our homes. 

More and alone I stayed here in the realm of the past 
the old dragons.