Not Another Dream
Texti: Valgarður Guðjónsson
Old fashioned door on a half-built house.
The place is a castle and someone's home.
On the air a low-key talk show
giving hope to burnt out causes.
Odd looking crash on a half-burned car.
The road leads to barracks and someone's home.
In the air a lowly flying plane
is seeking some direction.
On going search for a hidden track.
The group goes to service and heads right back.
In the chair a lovely speaking vicar
spelling hate and anger.
My mind tricked my eyes that evening
like they were hand in hand then,
but it's raining madmen, in all senses, at them,
arms in arms.
And no, it's not another dream.
It's simply just the way it seems.