A lonely man carrying dreams as books in his arms
Wearing eyeglasses which only sees a world where he doesn't belong
He stops for a moment upon a wooden bench to entertain the woman of his dreams
On the empty docks beneath the clear blue fish filled waters

His heart beats a Capella inside his chest
Full of thoughts as characters playing poker in his mind
He talks with a baritone voice of small details that matter to him
And of dreams

Emotions like anchors tied onto fishing lines
Being casted out to fly like angels for a moment then to scubba-drive into the oceans depths
They forget themselves, for but a moment, as they are caught up in the adrenaline rush
And wonder why?

All of his decisions are diligently made like a man out of an oil painting
Wondering why life doesn't feel real
And He sits and listens to the voice of his love
Portraying herself

His passionate eyes like black consumes the night
He contemplates what is better, lies or truths?
And he walks off, the sunset left behind, alone as he came
With the delusion of her put back into his memories like picture frames