by Nick Gisburne
There’s money in the dirty world of dreams,
But nightmares are illegal, hard to find.
The government, with all its wisdom, deems
Their sleaze to be a menace to the mind.
A black, immoral market rears its head,
Perversities and traumas snatched and sold.
For gangs who tap a screaming donor’s dread,
The streets of sleep are paved with greed and gold.
Behind the fake facade of every bar,
Addicted dreamers, junkies, feed their vice.
Horrific visions, brutal and bizarre,
Contaminate the cortex, for a price.
The system cannot cure them, never tries,
Untroubled when another dreamer dies.
