Plenty Every night I dream this dream It's not a bad dream, nor is it a good dream More like an in between dream, it seems Every night I stand in a room A cold, steel room with a touch of gloom In that room there is a table, A hard, steel table without a label It stands alone And on its own It taunts me with its #lifeless body And every night Inside that gloomy room And on that labeless table, There's a cup. Just a cup. I walk towards it, Just to see what's inside- I mean, what does a cup have to hide? I slowly lean forward And start to falter As I realize its a cup of water. Some nights it's half full, Others, it's half empty Either way, there's always plenty.
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