baking your head is the new cool.

i shut my eyes and all the world drops dead; 
i lift my lids and all is born again. 
(i think i made you up inside my head.) 

the stars go waltzing out in blue and red, 
and arbitrary blackness gallops in: 
i shut my eyes and all the world drops dead. 

i dreamed that you bewitched me into bed 
and sung me moon-struck, kissed me quite insane. 
(i think i made you up inside my head.) 

god topples from the sky, hell's fires fade: 
exit seraphim and satan's men: 
i shut my eyes and all the world drops dead. 

i fancied you'd return the way you said, 
but i grow old and i forget your name. 
(i think i made you up inside my head.) 

i should have loved a thunderbird instead; 
at least when spring comes they roar back again. 
i shut my eyes and all the world drops dead. 
(i think i made you up inside my head.)
— Sylvia Plath