Frail like dreams, I had crossed a thought--thin line I'd never seen.
I know that dreams turn nails to leaves
and this deceiver is someone I can't keep at bay.
So I blame me whenever I let my ghost stray.

I blame the honest man with his heart in his hand.

And I come harboring secrets in the night.
Knowing that beneath this skin lies a man waiting to come alive.
This is the sound thoughts make like balllads from the barrel of a gun.
And I "at my sky blue trades"* fade back to where I came from.

I blame the honest man with his heart in his hand.

(* Dylan Thomas--Fern Hill)