C4 (a song in my head)

Can't you see, that I am sleeping?
That every soul here has a dream they need to share?
The craven maniac, the tired teacher,
the wrinkled secretary too, they are all a piece of you.

Can't you see, that we are dreaming?
That the swarm of wanton eyes in a crowd of swiftnening dyes,
oh how they're swirling, shirts and hair,
their loops of screaming mass are only dense disperse gas.
Oh how we move, oh how we hate,
oh how the physics of the ground and the touch of all the sounds
it makes us terrified, it makes us dumb,
makes us lose our silly gestures to our voices as they drum,
and the crying man beside is just a flesh-sack to outrun.

Cant you see, that we are comatose?
That our souls have met the mind and it's still busy counting time?
Dust and fire, limbs and scrapes,
for all the movement in the street there is still so little heat.
Rubbled hearts, and broken feet,
and dimming in the night the fire seems complete,
but the ashes rise, the fear consumes,
and human kind resumes the lie as shadow souls they seize the loom.
Can't you see, that I am sleeping?
That every soul here has a dream they need to share?