Dream Fog

My dream was, it seems fog, like steam from an ice-cream dropped on the street when it's hot.

I scream from the pop, all I see is the trees and leaves when I drop.

Thieves in my dreams keep seeking to plot.

I'm speaking in schemes so the freaks don't reach in my pocket.

They're never going to stop reaching for the locket.

There's creeps out here trying to streak like a rocket.

These streets don't sleep, they teach like a prophet.

All I see are these peeps on the cheap and on the offense.

All weak like a dream when you speak on the contents.