Part one

Fog enters my room at night
And I can feel it filling up my lungs
Sleep won’t find me tonight
So I go out on my own

Pain builds in my chest
And I need to feel it

Light pours in my window
And it hurts my eyes to see
The day outside
Knowing that I won’t enjoy anything I find

Fog goes in my room at night
And I can hardly hold myself
Lost in my memory
Of myself
Before I lived

Part two

When I was a child my mother used to say
Your hands are elegant and slender, not like your sisters,
who inherited roundness from your father,
you could be a hand model with those hands.

~ Like a dream

I wondered about all the things I would touch if I were a hand model.

TVs, Computer screens
Miscellaneous electronics

Shampoo
Two-in-one
A bar of soap
Soapy suds

~ Like a dream

A meal at home
Tonight, chicken
A crisp apple

A stained nappy
Advertisements like this
When I was a child
It looked like an option
To be on TV
A way of life
To be on TV

Now, we bow to other screens
In your pocket
On the toilet
The first moments of waking
The last images before sleep

When I was a child, I didn’t dream or aspire to this
And now

I could be in a game and live forever

When I was a child, I thought I had broken my leg from playing video games.
Sat on my knees, I’d been playing all day
And when I went to stand up, they gave away
I screamed, but much to my disappointment
They were only asleep

Nothing dramatic ever seemed to happen.
And yet, my whole childhood was

Like a dream

~ Like a dream, where I come from
Like a dream
Like a dream
~ Like a dream, where I come from
Like a dream

My whole childhood
~ Like a dream
My whole childhood
~ Like a dream
My whole childhood
~ Like a dream

Am I no longer a dreamer?
Where in this world is there space for my dreams?
And if my dream is common, is it my own -
Or some kind of collective necessity
I misplaced my dreams
In the space between
Innocence and tragedy
Knowing that some things are simply beyond control

Does your dream involve fixing things?
A broken system
A morally bankrupt thread
A bad apple

Does your dream involve writing wrongs
Taking something back
Rewinding time before things happen

To your loved ones
To your culture
To the things you can no longer see, hold or touch
Do you sleep enough to dream?

~ Come to mother
Come to me
~ Come to mother
Come to me
~ Come to mother
Come to me

Scrolling on my phone
Looking for connection
All alone, seeking some direction
Seems they’ve got my images
They got them all
Think they can map my memories
Do they know it all?
Just like Jane Says, nothings shocking!

Scrolling on my phone
Searching for identity
All the TV shows, pretend to catch up with me
How many generations to get it back
Assimilation still lives in the roots of me

So come one everybody
Sleeping bodies
Heavy in your mourning
For those days
Come on everybody
Restless bodies
Clear in our hope
A dream to come