Let us embark upon a midnight dream
Of post-war metaphysical strength
A gap in the trodden mind
That bequeaths relief from time
A witness to the quickness with which
 Father trunk can shake his leaves
With cankered flesh and molten minds
A barren branch of rotted pine
Like a faulty-bearing prisoner
we die

Imprisoned by our own existence
And liberated only by our dreams
A pigeon on the tightrope
Trying to fly with ingrown wings
Surpassing but a baby's whim
A meager keg of cream
Nothing is scared from within our loans
Nothing sacred in our voice
Dream your dreams
And dream of dreaming dreams