The moon, O' frigid eye above, insidiously shines
His rays, like corpse nails, scraping at my eyne
So bright they blaze, I find behind my lids a wan reprieve
Until the hands of sleep can squeeze me tight

And in the gloomy distances of consciousness I see
The world, in all its chaos, melt away
spreading out like ashes caught in gusting seaward wind
Ferrying me to the dreamer's brae

So sweet the scents are here - (that ev'ry morn in which I wake
I scoff the sour breath which gives me life, I
Scratch the flesh which binds me to these slowly cracking bones, I
Curse the world, its thoughts, its fears, its blight!
I wish I could go back!) - upon the pensive Galleon
Once I have reached its crisp and fecund groves
aswoon I soon forget that back beneath my itching sheets
A dead heart twitches in its plundered cove

Amidst that realm of protean, of ever-changing form
I feel the fissured scars from her deform
I feel my skin, my mind, my soul, and all such human pain
Begin to tear apart within the storm
Unravelling until, like ash, I swarm
and every part of me, once cold, can warm
To revel in the dreamy, wakeless storm
The rumored place whence all poets are born
And with the coming dawn, are cruelly torn

Too soon (Always too soon!) the traitor rays of mother Sun
Attempt to bite my eyes awake with heat
Until alas I choke upon the morn's first sour breath
And stumble to a poet's awkward feet
Walking I'm beguiled by the gnawing, febrile pain
seething from the cave I call mine heart, as I
try to chase her giggle from the hallows of my mind
Before it tears my sanity apart
So waver through the laughless day, I crawl, until the sky
Collapses to the lightless ocean floor
Revealing, like an open sore, the demon moon above
which calls me to the Dreamer's brae once more