I sing like a siren/ but I don't think you hear me

I know dreams are for dreamers and dreamers often lie.
I wrote a song in which I am drying flowers in an old house by the seaside and I sunk my heart to the bottom of the sea because love grows on the moon and the moon always changes.
I have a feeling in me all the time that tells me to run away.
I dream of seashores and treehouses or a cottage where I would grow my own vegetables and the fragrance of lavender would fill the air.
then I think, if I had got there, I would still get the urge to be somewhere else, a different view from the window, different people to talk to.
some are nomads and we carry this feeling, no matter how far we go.
I'd love a costume party in the forest and fairy lights everywhere.
for now I'm lighting lavender incense sticks and later we're going to the park tonight to colour our lips wine-red and then to some place of new faces and liquour.
I'm wearing a pair of outrageous shoes because I don't feel like understatement today.
(hush- they rhyme on nabokov's cruelly beautiful novel.)