Mirror Shade

Spindly fingers
In a room deep and dark
An apple glinting softly against the black so stark

The benefactor chuckles
Amidst his shufflings
His sickly grin splits open

Oh, Nalidon, are you killing me?
Oh, Nalidon, are you killing me?

"It seems to make me return to the place poignantly dear to my heart where my grandfather's house used to be, in which I was born 40 years ago, right on the dinner table. Each time I try to enter it, something prevents me from doing that. I see this dream again and again, and when I see those walls made of logs in the dark entrance, even in my dream I become aware that I'm only dreaming it. And the overwhelming joy is clouded by anticipation of awakening. At times something happens and I stop dreaming of the house and the pine trees of my childhood around it, and I get depressed, and I can't wait to see this dream in which I'll be a child again, and feel happy again. Because everything will still be ahead. Everything will still be possible."

Oh, Nalidon
Wisping ink cascading
Down my shoulders
Mauve inset pools
Mauve inset pools