My subconscious is more my conscious of late
My dreams roll into my days
There is no great mystery
In where my thoughts are leading
They fall in patterns at my feet
And trip me
And when you’re asking me
Why I’m always early and you’re late
We find ourselves on our feet
And echoes of our shouting lasts for days
But it’s not as though I didn’t know where this was leading
But to you it seems it was a mystery
Loving a good murder mystery
I laugh when you say you’ll kill me
Because you’re joking and leading
The way when the bulbs have blown and it’s late
And in a few days
We will sit together smiling again, with restless feet
It’s quite the feat
To keep up the mystery
And after days
The clues that you leave are still unclear to me
Think, isn’t it rather late
In the game for all this following and leading?
I thought you were leading
So I followed the imprints of your feet
But, rather too late
I solved a mystery
And found there was no foothold here, for me
Even after having wasted so many days
But we’ll give it a few days
To settle like sand, and see where it’s leading
Whether or not it’s leading to me
Where I fall at your feet
Is no mystery
But we’re both tired, and it’s late
Turning to me you mention that you’re not a fan of mystery
And I see I’ve been dreaming days too often, swan-diving into reality too late
So I fall over my own feet and land on where they were leading