They say the writer is the weaver of dreams What kind of dreams do we all dream? I can only tell now of how it is to wake And start to change the world around Reality is now the check we sign All this upheaval is our fate I can't remember what I dreamt last night When morning comes it fades away This irksome cloud that hangs above our heads It's telling all of us to stop But on the monday after we bow down To make the ends of our lives meet This roof that covers the top of my head Beneath the feet of someone else And down below my gutter joins with yours In this barbaric paradise This city sucks the marrow This city rots your brain If it's not happening here It's not anywhere else Where do your dreams reside? Where is your appetite? What are we yearning for? What are we learning for?