Changing Tyres

Carpets red and castles
In the sky are sitting proud
As the dreams are tiled surfaces
In bungalows on ground

Memories of mornings
With the smile through your teeth
As you cuddle warm like butterflies
Are forming underneath

Sixteen hours
Awake and dreaming
Eight more are ours
Picking locks and changing tyres

Bishops, pawns and castles
Are moving in a game
The allegory thickening
As our eyes glisten for fame

Sleeping through a Monday
Filling pillows full of dreams
But the moving parts are novel
And we sleep on balance beams

Sixteen hours
Awake and dreaming
Eight more are ours
Picking locks and changing tyres