Crochet workers hooking and hooking,
like so many before trying to turn a thousand dimes,
dreaming just like anyone else,
hoping.

Her eyes speak more than her words,
telling any listener of lifetimes lived before their time,
and hopes that will not die.

She just wants to dream,
and he just wants to know the price to live his,
but she just wants someone to dream with.

If the gods have chained the demons,
and even the monsters still dream in their slumber,
and share their wicked company amongst each other,
shouldn’t she receive the same courtesy?