the ships have come again tonight,
to sprinkle all those dusts;
the ships across the rainbow bridge,
the ships that never rust.

say, my child, have you wondered,
how the dusts are made?
the dusts they sprinkle once a while
are made by fairy maids.

the fairies gather here and there
the memories on land;
memories fade, they steam and away,
and turn to sandman’s sand.

the sandman huffs to tender youths,
they fall to sound o’ sleep;
at yonder end of the yellow brick road,
they see what should never be seen.

Betty posters laugh and guffaw,
so do the nearly headless Nicks;
poppy perfume enamors the kids,
and hounds in high-hats lick.

recall, my child, try to recall,
how the dusts are made?
they’re the gathered memories
and knitted by the maids.

memory is a dangerous thing,
it’s secrets in the dark;
a man wear suits and ties, but inside,
he f*cks, he kills, he barks.

so now, my child, the story ends,
but starts my confession deep;
i’m the man wearing suits and ties,
like everyone down the street.

for now you know the many truths,
i wish you a sound goodnight;
when the sandman comes,
leave a door open, lie welcome.

and when he sprinkles the sand,
don’t fight.