I remember that time, the moon hangs high.

We lie on the grass and pretend to see,

the northern lights, out of the vacant sky.

We dream as water continues to seep.

You dream of fantasies when the ocean 

gulps your continent, and the tears of clouds

and the warm sun burn your skin. The potion

of your fairy tales lures you to your bounds. 

Your enemies emerge when the events 

of your tragedies foresee the future 

of your own demise. Hence the sky presents

your ending, of the nemesis you were. 

Before this catastrophe rise, awake

from this vile dream and see the things at stake.