There's a point in this lonely nightmare
Sharp as a tack on a map
In the middle of the ocean
And a bit to the left
Wherein my dreams feel more full
Than waking life
Real or not
The illusion is marked by its population
The Sandman's space by its weight
Heavy lids like swinging doors
And barren mornings
What a life, so dull
Even drudgery cuts
Kills.
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