I went dream walking,
through everyday scenes so strange,
yet familiar.
I was counting sheep,
and got to thirty seven,
when the shepherd came.
A couple of retweets,
and a smattering of likes,
could be called success.
Twang left the guitar,
no one missed it, but they knew,
that something had changed.
At eighteen hundred,
he packed his bag and left work
and walked to the pub.
