I remember when,
I was told a story of crushed velvet, candle wax and dried up flowers.
The figure on the bed all dressed up in roses, calling.
Beckoning to sleep, offering a dream.
The words were as mystical as purring animals,
The circle of rage, the ghosts on the stage appeared.
The time was so tangible, I'll never let it go.
Ghost stories handed down, reached secret tunnels below.
No one could see me.
I fell into yesterday,
Our dreams seemed not far away.
I want to...
I want to...
I want to stay
I fell into fantasy.