A poem

To dream about dreaming,
To venture within thy home.
To get the butter you must get up, or find another way.
You could apprehend the hand of the mindless sand, but to not water would have the castle of your, crumple to dust.
We walk and ignore. Not knowing that the truth is behind bars, as a zoo for those who look.
We go on with our lives not caring, less our simple minds shatter by tears.

Hey, would a story here be nice? It would be short and it probably belong here as much as me. It would be dumb, but it might be fun... I got a feeling... that tonight's gonna be a good night, that tonight's gonna be a good night.