There's this dream where I am constantly running around
There's thus reality where I'm constantly moving around
There's this thought that I'm constantly moving around
And then there's this moment that I suddenly stop and realize all the while that my brain is a wicked chaos of a thing that seems impossible to tame.
No matter the place, no matter the season,
I'll just always be buzzing
Reverberating
Tire down
Lay my head on pillowed net that captures my ideas
Banishing them to my head and not my hands
In should be moving, toiling in a mess of wire
Burning the midnight oil til thesis ends
But I'm trapped
Trapped in that net of my ideas
Always wanting to play, play, play
Well, once again here I lay...
Thinking
Overwhelming
Knowing the only thing to do is make
Do I let the dreams lay the foundation?
Or should my panic be the inspiration?