He chronicled her dreams
She wasn't even a queen
Was he dressed in a many coloured tunic?
Was he there taming the lions?
Was he Freud born again?
Why did he really care?
He perused every grey cell in her head
He made sure he caught her before she went to bed
He kissed her good morning too
Wasn't that a dainty thing to do?
It seems he was only catching dreams
He didn't stop till she had to muffle her screams.
She escaped with a broken aorta or two
The pieces of her life askew
The dreams were distorted now
With the dreamcatcher in the front pew
Sometimes he performed to his dismay
And she was left smothered in mildew
She had to leave she woke up
Enough was bloody enough
It took her a year or two
But she finally figured who was who
The Dreamcatcher toyed with her head
He just took the route through her head