There are men abed in far afield with stars behind their sleeping eyes and through their curtain may yeild a burning truth and whispered lies. He may walk through flowing leaves and though he may feel no heat He'll hear the words of leaves and be paired by their truthful greet
But through this woven word of dreams he may be tempted by a laughing, languid stream giggled, whispered lies that beckons him to stay and touch it's sinewy banks. Dip his toes into the icy spray and join the lies on its frozen banks.
But dreams with tinged truth has put burning inside his mind a dreamer bends his fiction 'round the truth whilst a liar bends the truth to fit his fiction