When I sleep, I do not dream.
Dreams are for day, when one wishes the world away.
Sleep is occupied with other endeavors, he has no need for my fantasies.
He does not wish to see days relived, or days to come,
he does not need this from anyone.
The man in my head is no different from you or I. He has his own issues, fears, doubts, lies.
In sleep he opens his mind to me, and the things I shall see.
They cannot be called dreams because dreams do not plague you, they do not send fire through your soul, they do not send you running hither and thither, to the farthest reaches of your mind.
His thoughts are truly remarkable, they could make any man bow down in fear. And you would never know he was here.
Behind my eyes, in my head, I call him sleep, he wants me dead.
But I will never tell you what he says, what he whispers, what he chants.
I will never tell you if I listen, if I obey, if I give in,
you will never know until sleep has won, until he has dragged me under... until darkness embrace me...